Within Temptation
by Draic Kin of the Balance
Summary: AU. After spending years in hiding from the English, Mary returns to French court to formalize her engagement to Francis. Mary is immediately drawn to Francis and dreams of surrendering herself to him, but the forbidden fruit of temptation is more ripe than either of them believe. Rated M for language, adult themes, and strong sexual content.
1. Court

**Within Temptation**

**By Draic Kin of the Balance**

* * *

"_Sparkling angel I believed_

_You were my savior in my time of need._

_Blinded by faith I couldn't hear_

_All the whispers, the warnings so clear._

_I see the angels,_

_I'll lead them to your door._

_There's no escape now,_

_No mercy no more._

_No remorse cause I still remember_

_The smile when you tore me apart._

_You took my heart,_

_Deceived me right from the start._

_You showed me dreams,_

_I wish they would turn into real._

_You broke the promise and made me realize._

_It was all just a lie._

_Sparkling angel, I couldn't see_

_Your dark intentions, your feelings for me._

_Fallen angel, tell me why?_

_What is the reason, the thorn in your eye?" ~_Within Temptation, _Angels_

* * *

"It's time, Mary," says one of the nuns. "King Henri believes it is time you returned to the French court. You're eighteen years old. It's time you married the young Francis." I look up towards her from my novel, startled.

"Wait, now?" I ask. "Are you sure? I've been holed up here in this nunnery for almost ten years, waiting on a marriage that may or may not happen." I set my book down and approach her. "It's 2015, for god's sake. The English haven't made any attempts on my life, surprisingly…and now I have to go back to court?"

"Do you not want to marry the dauphin?" she presses me. I stare at her. How can I possibly explain it to her? Being forced into an arranged marriage to a husband who may or may not love you? Everyone knows of how King Henri flaunts his mistress Diane de Poitiers around court as his wife Catherine is forced to stand by and pretend as if it doesn't bother her. Will Francis even love me?

"I understand the importance of our marriage for the sake of our countries," I begin slowly. "Scotland needs France's support against England and vice versa. It was Henri's idea – this engagement, but it's entirely political. It's not a marriage out of love." _And I've always dreamed and hoped that my future husband would love me, although I suppose I've always known my marriage would be one of politics and not love. _I refuse to be trapped in a loveless marriage like that of Henri and Catherine, but if it means securing Scotland's future, so be it.

"You didn't answer my question, Mary." Sister Margaret gives me a pointed look and I groan inwardly. "Do you want to marry Francis?"

"Can you just give me Henri's letter, please?" I ask her. She reluctantly obliges and gives it to me. I take it from her and unfold it, reading it aloud.

_Sister Margaret, _

_ My family and I thank you for the protection you and your nunnery have offered Mary Stuart. Things have been rather tense here at court. We can feel the omnipresent threat of the English looming over our heads; they're like a snake poised to strike and we are just waiting for them to attack. _

_ You are well aware of Mary's engagement to my son Francis and that they are to wed once they are of age. Francis has reached nineteen years; he is strong and healthy and a good match, I believe, for Mary. Mary will give Francis many sons and give the Valois dynasty the foothold it needs. A date has yet to be decided for the wedding, but in just due time, they will be married. _

_ My loving wife Catherine, I will tell you, is not too keen on the prospect of a Stuart-Valois marriage. I will handle my wife. Please, send Mary to court as soon as possible. The sooner, the better. _

_H. _

"I really don't have a choice, do I?" I could feel my heart racing and my palms beginning to sweat. Fuck, I am terrified. "I have to go to court and marry Francis."

"Let's go, Mary," says Sister Margaret. "No use in putting it off."

* * *

The limousine pulls up in front of the Louvre and I feel like I'm going to throw up. I'm overwhelmed by the immensity and beauty of the palace. _This is where I'm going to live for the rest of my life. With my husband. _I open the door and climb out; the entire court is standing outside, waiting for me. I take a deep breath and walk towards them. I am not a regular teenager anymore, perhaps I never was. I am Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland, soon to be the Queen of France.

"Mary! Mary!" I'm suddenly attacked by my friends – Lola, Greer, Kenna and Aylee – as they all hug me. We end up falling to the ground as one mess of laughter and happiness.

"I've missed you all so much!" I exclaim, rising to my feet. "It's been so long!" As we all get to our feet, in my peripheral vision, I see Henri and Catherine. There is a glint of pride in the king's eyes, but Catherine is unreadable. I can sense her displeasure; I can't help but wonder why she is so opposed to my marriage to her son.

"We were getting kind of lonely without you!" confesses Aylee. "Sure, there are plenty of cute guys here but it just isn't the same without you!" I don't know why, but I feel myself blushing and my friends burst out laughing again.

"It's good to have you back, Mary," says Kenna. "Just in time, too. The engagement party is tonight; the castle's making preparations even as we speak."

"Engagement party?"

"Yeah, to celebrate your upcoming wedding to the dashing Francis!" she exclaims. "It's supposed to be a huge event. Think of it as your welcome home party." I force a smile. Of course, there's going to be a party. It's the French court. Almost nothing is bigger than a wedding or a coronation. "Oh my god, is…is that Francis? And his brother – no, half-brother – Sebastian?" I turn around and I see them. They are both tall and good on the eyes; one of them has short blond hair, the other has dark-brown hair.

"Isn't the darker one Francis?" Greer asks, but I can barely hear her over the hammering of my heart as Francis approaches us.

_ You can do this, Mary. You've known Francis since childhood, it's not as if you're meeting your husband just the night before your wedding. Get your shit together, you're a queen. _My hands are trembling and I hope that he doesn't notice what a nervous wreck I am. Francis bows before me and smiles.

"Your Grace," he greets me.

"No, call me Mary, please!" I insist. "I mean, if we're going to be married soon, we might as well be on a first name basis."

"Of course, of course." Francis offers his hand to me. "Francis." I take it and for the first time since I got here, my smile is actually genuine. "Glad to have you back, Mary."

"Thank you," I stammer, surprised by the genuineness of his words. My heart flutters in my chest for a second. "Would you mind showing me around the castle?"

"No, not at all!" Francis offers me his arm. I'm startled by this gesture, but I take his arm nonetheless. I can hear my ladies snickering behind me; they're going to bombard me with questions about my fiancé as soon as they get the chance. We make our way inside the castle and I'm overwhelmed. It is so beautiful and so…_huge. _The ceiling is decorated in religious art; in one, the archangel Lucifer falls from Heaven and in another, Cain kills Abel in traditional, brutal and bloody fashion.

"I remember chasing you in these halls when we were children," I find myself saying. I smile and chuckle at the memory. "Your legs were always longer than mine; it was always hard to keep up with you."

"You were one tough cookie, Mary," Francis says. "You were the feistiest five year old I'd ever seen in my life."

"Shut up, I don't think I was that horrible!" I laugh, and playfully punch his shoulder. Francis laughs with me and for a moment, I feel it. I feel something between us. Something that has been long suppressed, waiting to be released. It's like the spark of a fire that is not yet ignited.

"No, you weren't _that_ bad," he admits. We walk in silence for a few moments before he speaks again. "Our engagement party is tonight," he tells me.

"You don't sound particularly thrilled about it." _Do you want this marriage? Do you want me? Or is there another who has your affections? _

"We've been engaged since we were children, Mary," Francis explains. "I don't see why my father insists on throwing a party." He sounds bitter about it and I don't know why, but it hurts me. Does he see me only as a friend? Or an object, handed to him by his father? I want to ask him about our marriage, but I'm afraid of his answer.

"Kenna says that it's supposed to be a _Welcome Back, Mary _sort of thing, not just a celebration of our engagement," I point out. Francis shakes his head and I immediately know something's up. I drop my arm from his and face him directly.

"Francis, if you want to say something to me, just say it," I say in frustration. "Cut the bullshit and be honest with me. Do you want to marry me or not?" I've struck a nerve, for he stares at me for a few moments before storming off.

"Excuse me, Mary. I need to go," he says hurriedly. I'm shocked and hurt and infuriated by his sudden change in attitude. What the hell? One minute, we were reminiscing about our childhood and teasing and flirting with one another – the next, he's shutting me out and refusing to be open and honest with me!

"Francis! Francis! _Francis_!" I call. He doesn't even look back. I shake my head and roll my eyes, trying to suppress my disappointment. _What were you expecting, Mary? For that moment of connection, if it was even there, to grow into something more? _I laugh aloud at myself and my stupidity. Francis's elusiveness is all the proof I need. He doesn't want to marry me, and perhaps he never did.


	2. Engaged

"So, how'd it go with Francis?" Those are the first words to come out of my ladies' mouths when I return to my chambers. I know what they want to hear: He told me he was in love with me and kissed me. I kissed him back and now we're making plans to elope. I hate how much a secret part of me wishes it'd actually happened. I put my fingers to my lips and I let myself imagine what it would feel like to have his lips on mine. My imagination wanders; what would it feel like to have his hands on me, his fingers _in _me, sending me into ecstasy?

_Fuck. _"What?" I realize that I haven't answered my friends' questions. I swear silently to myself. What had gotten into me? I'm not one who indulges in her sexual fantasies. I admit, I've had my fantasies about my first time making love, but Kenna's always been the sexually adventurous one out of all of us. Greer, Aylee, Lola and I have just never had the chance to really explore our sexuality. I know I haven't, I've been too busy running from the English while they've been here at court, looking for potential husbands. I don't know how I would fare without them.

"Francis, Mary!" Greer laughs. "How'd it go with your future hubby?" I sigh internally before sitting down on the couch with them. They are all so eager to hear the details, no matter how good or bad. Ever since they learned of my engagement to Francis, they've been so supportive and encouraging.

"It…did and it didn't?" I begin. I'm not sure how to go about explaining to them what happened between me and Francis, how we went from forming a connection, however brief it was, to him pushing me away and making excuses to run off. "Like, we were just talking and remembering our childhood together and it was nice…but then he started talking about our engagement and the celebration that's being held tonight."

"How is that a bad thing, Mary?" Lola asks. "You two _are _engaged; you're bound to discuss it sooner or later."

I nod. "Yes, but…when I asked him if he wanted this marriage, he just dodged the question and made an excuse to not answer." I sigh. "I'm really starting to think he doesn't want to marry me. If I'm lucky, we'll still get married but he'll probably have a mistress while I stand on the sidelines!" My voice gains a bitter and angry edge by the time I'm finished and I bury my head in my hands in frustration. "I don't know when, but soon, I will have to marry him. I don't want to be in a loveless marriage, guys. I _can't._"

"Nobody does, Mary," Kenna assures me, rubbing my back in support. "I mean, I'm sure when Catherine married Henri, she wasn't exactly rooting for him and Diane."

"Oh yeah, because who actually wants their husband to cheat on them?" I remark drily. "Kings in the past have always cheated on their wives; hell, they usually fathered illegitimate children!"

"Do you think Francis is that type of man to cheat on his wife, Mary?" Greer questions me.

"That's just the thing, Greer. I don't really _know _him. We were friends when we were children, but it's been years. We're adults now. Things have changed."

"We understand your concerns, Mary," says Aylee, "but now is not the time to stress over whether or not Francis will love you! The party's in an hour, you need to get ready!"

I look at the clock briefly.

"Shit!"

* * *

"So, um, how do I look?" I pose for a second for my friends. My dress is black, short and simple, yet simply stunning at the same time. It's made of intricate lace, with a swirling Celtic pattern on the back. My hair is French braided and over my shoulder. I'm a queen; it's best that I look the part.

"You look gorgeous, Mary!" exclaims Kenna. "Francis probably won't be able to tear his eyes away, no matter how hard he tries."

"Maybe." I shrug. I can't help but look at my ring finger, where an engagement ring or even a wedding ring might be. Francis and I have been engaged since childhood; would it seem fitting if he gave me a ring? _Dammit, Mary. This engagement is strictly politics, nothing more. Keep your head separate from your heart. _"I don't know what I'm expecting from him. Will he be an arrogant asshole? Will he apologize for a few hours ago? Or will he pretend like nothing even happened?"

"If he's nothing like his father, he'll act like a respectable gentleman," Lola says matter-of-factly. "You're going to be fine, Mary. Just relax. Breathe." I take a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart. I'm a queen; formal events should not make me anxious. I'm grateful that Francis and I aren't being married straightaway; as much as I want to marry him, I'm not sure how I would fare during the consummation. There's something about being surrounded by the king, queen, my ladies, and the Pope as Francis makes love to me just so there is verification that our marriage has indeed been consummated that scares the shit out of me.

"You'll be great, Mary," Aylee encourages me. "You're going to be able to spend more time with your fiancé while the others and I continue looking for potential suitors."

"Tell me if it goes well!" I insist. "I want each and every one of you to find a man whom you love and wish to marry, not have a man forced upon you." I realize the double meaning of my words. For as long as I can remember, I have been engaged to Francis. I've always fantasized about whether or not he would fall in love with me, but now that I've actually spoken with him, I'm almost certain that he is in this marriage not out of love, but for politics. For France.

"We'll tell you," Greer tells me. "Don't worry. Come on, we should get going."

* * *

The ballroom of the Louvre is even grander than I imagined it to be. Candles are lit everywhere, there are tables set about the floor for the partygoers; on those tables are silver and gold plates with red roses in a vase. The guests are mingling with one another: laughing, talking, kissing, and dining together. I've already lost sight of my ladies and Francis is nowhere in sight. Is he even here?

"Mary Stuart!" I turn around. It's none other than the Queen of France herself, Catherine de Medici. She smiles at me, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I thought I should meet my future daughter-in-law." She takes a sip of her red wine before she continues. "You should know, Mary, that life here at court isn't all fun and games like it was when you were a child. It's dangerous, it can be bloody, and there is no mercy. I do hope you know what you've agreed to, now that you're of age and mind to marry my son and think for yourself."

"I think I can handle myself, thanks," I tell her bitingly. "I'm a queen, not a child, Catherine."

"I'm very much aware of that, Mary," Catherine responds; her voice is acid, burning me to the touch. "The only reason why you are still at this court is because my doting husband insisted on marrying you to our son. To be honest, he would probably kill me – _literally_ – if I did anything to break up your engagement."

"Do you think that I'm going to hurt Francis?" I demand. "Do you think I'm going to betray the alliance between France and Scotland?" _Why are you so vehemently against me marrying Francis? _I want to scream at her, but I know confronting her directly won't give me the answers that I need.

"Not even that," she says evasively. "So, so much worse. If you'll excuse me, I have guests to attend to." She slides past me and is lost within the crowd. Sighing, I make my way to the dance floor. Of course, this is French court and not a club. The orchestra is playing a classical version of _Back to You _by Twin Forks. Couples are dancing together, and I feel a pang of sadness. I decide I want a drink when Francis is suddenly beside me, offering me his hand.

"Will you have this dance, Mary?" he asks me. I intend to refuse him, but instead, I find myself taking his hand as he leads me out onto the dance floor. He wraps his arms around my waist and I link my arms around his neck.

"I thought you weren't coming. You said that this party was ridiculous," I say in surprise. We aren't really moving in circles around the floor; we are just swaying on our feet, ignoring the world around us.

"I wasn't planning on coming," Francis admits, "but I won't be that asshole who just lets his future bride be humiliated at her own engagement slash welcome back party."

"So, you came because you felt obligated to save my dignity?" I'm still angry with him for running off on me. "I appreciate the gesture, Francis. Really, I do. But, if you don't want to marry me, just say so please. We can both find new alliances, form new engagements. Just be straight with me. Is something wrong with me? Am I too, I don't know, fresh from the covenant for your liking?"

"Mary, it isn't you!" he swears. "I mean, you're beautiful and unpredictable and clever, but…" He trails off deliberately. My heart skips a beat at his calling me beautiful, despite everything.

"But what, Francis? Tell me."

"I'm just not sure if this alliance is best for France," he explains. "Scotland is in a vulnerable position right now; its armies are dwindling. France's militia is in better shape, but it needs the extra forces and Scotland just doesn't offer the mutual benefit." Francis surprises me by twirling me and when I twirl back into his arms, he cradles me from behind. His breath is on my cheek and arms are wrapped around my waist, claiming me, possessing me. I can just barely make out the unevenness of his breathing. _He feels it, too. _There is suddenly an erotic and sensual ether between us. I turn my head to look at him as his lips just barely brush my neck, sending shivers down my spine. _Holy shit. _I lean my head back against him, daring to let out a quiet moan of arousal. I close my eyes, letting myself imagine what it would be like to spend a night in this man's arms. Fire ignites between my thighs and it takes all of my self-control not to turn around and kiss him. I imagine him tearing my dress off me as he kisses every inch of my body before we dance the erotic dance of love.

Francis's lips are at my earlobe, nibbling ever so gently. _Whatever is going on between us, he can resist it no more than you can. _I suddenly realize that I am pressed against him; I can feel his erection, pressing hard against me. "Mary," he whispers.

_Make love to me, _I almost whisper back. _I want you inside me. _However, the moment ends almost as soon as it begins. He spins me again out of his arms and when I spin back, I wrap my arms around him and our lips are just inches away from meeting. The partygoers are whispering to each other as they watch our dance. Catherine's eyes on us are poisonous daggers as I see her engaged in conversation with the court's seer, Nostradamus.

"Mary," murmurs Francis again. "I can't do this."

"Why not?" I ask.

"There is no guarantee that we will actually even be married," he explains, "and for France, there are many more options for an alliance than just Scotland alone. It's not that simple, Mary."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demand. "Not simple? What's not simple? We've been engaged since we were six! Don't you think that we owe it to each other, to our _families_, to give this a chance?"

"Engagements don't mean anything!" Francis snaps. "We could be married off to other people tomorrow. Our engagement is just a foothold to keep my country secure."

"You're not the only one with a country to think of, Francis!" I say heatedly. "I'm in this marriage for Scotland's best interest at heart. Tell me, what are you so afraid of?" Francis is about to respond when the music stops and King Henri signals for the music to stop. We pull away from each other, effectively ending our dance. My heart is still pounding and my skin set afire by his touch.

"It's an honor to have you back, Mary, Queen of Scots," Henri booms for all of court to hear. "I have many high hopes for you, as well as your engagement to my son Francis. When it is time for my son to rule France, may you be a loyal and devoted queen!" I make myself smile. "Francis, I do believe you have something to give to your fiancée to mark the occasion?"

Wordlessly, Francis takes my hand in his. I don't know what to expect, but my heart stops as he sinks down to one knee. He pulls out a small box from his pocket; opening it, he unearths a diamond ring. I'm suddenly overwhelmed. An engagement ring? He's actually going to propose to me, in front of the entire court only mere moments after we were arguing about our engagement!

"Mary Stuart, will you marry me?" he asks. I know I have no choice but to accept; this is just a farce. King Henri thinks it's only appropriate our engagement is sealed with a ring.

"Yes, yes!" I exclaim. I close my eyes, pretending that none of this is happening and that Francis is giving me a ring not out of duty, but out of love and a common desire for our marriage. He slides it onto my ring finger and he kisses me. Not on the lips, but on the cheek. We embrace and feign happiness as the court bursts into applause. "Francis, is this a game to you?" I demand, all while continuing to put on a smile.

"No, of course not!" he says. "I just –"

"You don't want to marry me." I cut him off immediately. "You don't want this at all!"

"Mary…"

"Excuse me." I don't waste any time getting out of the room. On my way out, I grab another glass of wine. I down it in just three swigs. I'm torn between anger and disappointment as well as confusion and surprise. For all the times Francis deflected the topic of love and our marriage, I still can't shake our dance. The way his hands possessed me utterly, how his lips caressed my neck…

_He claims he doesn't want to marry me, but the way he acted while he was dancing with me, he might as well have been fucking me right there on the dance floor. _Holy shit. No wonder people were talking. I run back to my chambers, slamming the door behind me. I lean back against the door, reaching beneath my skirts with my hands. _Fuck. _It takes a while for me to find the right spot and when I do, I shudder in pleasure. I want Francis de Valois, I realize. I want him to make love to me, to be with me. I want him to be inside me, I want him to send me into paradise in a way nobody ever could. I want him to rapture me. I don't know if it's love or lust or even a little bit of both, but I want him.

Perhaps I always have.


	3. Attacked

I want Francis de Valois. There's no denying that anymore. I lean against the door, taking myself to the unknown world of ecstasy. My hands are not my hands, but Francis's, as they stroke my body: teasing me and touching me. _I want you, Mary, _I imagine Francis whispering in my ear. _I want to leave you begging for more by the time I'm finished with you. You're mine. You belong to me. _

"Francis…" I sigh. "_Francis_!" I know I should feel guilty for leaving my own engagement party so I could please myself, but after that dance…holy shit. _Francis has already awakened parts of me I didn't even know existed. _I shake my head and quickly smooth out my skirt, taking a breath, before returning to the party. Everyone is dancing still and mingling; I suddenly decide that I can't see Francis again. So much already has happened between us and it hasn't even been a day since I returned to court. I just want to enjoy the celebrations and be with my friends.

"Something has obviously made you unhappy." I turn to see Sebastian de Poitiers, Francis's half-brother. "I saw you left the party right after my brother proposed to you."

"You're observant," I reply. "Sebastian, right?"

"Bash. And you'd be correct," he answers. "You would be Mary, Queen of Scots, and my future sister-in-law. You and my brother were attached to the hip when we were all younger. It was impossible to separate you two. You were getting pretty close to him out there on the dance floor."

"There's nothing between me and Francis, Bash," I say. "Trust me. All that's between us is the fact that we're getting married soon." He raises his eyebrows at me skeptically.

"Nothing between you two?" Bash says doubtfully. "Mary, I know we've only just met but you didn't see the way Francis was looking at you. Just give it some time. He may surprise you." He offers me a reassuring smile. "I know my brother. Trust me."

"Thank you, Bash," I tell him. "It's funny. I thought that things between us would be the same when I came back here but as it turns out, they're not. Apparently, Catherine hates me and I have no idea why…"

"Catherine's always been like that," he says matter-of-factly, "but she's been acting more out of wack than usual about it. It's like she thinks you're going to kill Francis."

"Does she really think that?" I press him.

"When it comes to Catherine, it's hard to know what she thinks," admits Bash, "but I'm sure you have nothing to worry about, Mary." I'm not so sure, but I nod at him regardless. It's my first night back at court and I really don't want to have to worry about anything. Maybe Bash is right and I'm being too hard and persistent on Francis with the subject of our marriage.

"So, is there anything else I should know? Any more Bash's Declassified French Court Survival Guide tips I should know?" I ask him casually, trying to ease the tension.

"I'm not very much involved in the politics of court, Mary," he tells me, "but all I can say for sure is: be careful. Not everyone you meet here is going to be a friend to you."

"I know that Catherine isn't. She wasted no time getting that point across to me," I sigh. "I swear, something's up with her. Between the English and their eerie radio silence and the queen's hostility towards me, I have this feeling…it's like a pit in my stomach."

"Trust your instincts, Mary." Without another word, Bash vanishes into the crowd as I ponder his words. The party goes on without a care in the world. Francis and I continue to play our roles as the happy couple soon to be married; we dance and pretend to be in love. The wistful part of me wonders if he knows of his mother's opposition to his marriage to me. It would at least partially explain why he is so against marrying me.

After the guests disperse, Francis takes my hand and pulls me aside. "Mary, I understand the importance of our marriage to you. And believe me when I say that it's important to me as well –"

"But not in the same way?" I remark bitterly. "Politics and alliances. That's all our union is, remember?"

"—but I want us to at least be on good terms. Our wedding could be any day now, tomorrow even," Francis continues. "I don't want us to be like so many kings and queens of the past. Marrying out of duty, but despising each other."

I dare to take a step forward as I press my hand against his heart. His pulse pounds under my hand; his heart is racing with…anxiety? Or something else entirely? Francis reaches up, covering my hand in his, and everything in me comes alive. I am unable to stop myself from closing my eyes for a moment as his hand cradles my face gently. "Francis," I whisper. I look into his eyes. "If I were just a girl, not the queen of anything, would you want this? Would you want…me?" Our bodies are pressed intimately close together; I wrap my arms around him as our foreheads come together. Everything in me wants nothing more than to kiss Francis, but I'm afraid of overstepping my boundaries. Neither Francis nor I are quite certain what we want, but neither of us can resist the pull. His mouth is merely inches away from mine; any closer and he would kiss me.

"…_Yes_," he murmurs. "God, Mary, if it weren't for politics, I would…" I'm tempted to silence him with a kiss, but my mind is reeling from his answer. _If it weren't for politics, I would be his. _I don't need him to finish his sentence. Instead, I press a finger to his lips before gently breaking away from him. I know that if I stay a moment longer in his presence, I will lose control. I don't know yet what my feelings for him are yet: lust or love and until I figure myself out, I know I can't surrender to him. Not yet.

"You don't have to say anything, Francis. It's alright," I say quietly. "I should go." I turn away from him, making my way back to my chambers.

* * *

My room is empty when I arrive. Lola, Kenna, Greer and Aylee are nowhere in sight. _They've probably met some cute guys that met their fancy, _I remind myself. I take out my French braid, letting my long, raven black hair tumble down my shoulders and back before I take off my dress and shoes, changing into a camisole and flannel pajama shorts. My mind wanders to Francis, but fatigue wears on me. The room briefly spins for a moment, startling me.

_Shit, I'm fucking exhausted. _I collapse onto my bed, and sleep claims me instantaneously.

* * *

"I'm so sorry, my queen," a male voice says. There is a pressure of someone, a man, straddling me and oh my god, he has a knife in his hand! I scream and struggle, trying to buck him off me, but he stuffs a bandanna into my mouth as I hit and punch and slap him with all my might. The gag muffles my screams and terrified sobs as he grabs my wrists and pins them down above my head, binding them with rope.

"_Mmmmmmph-mmmmmph! Mmmmmmph_!" I'm in hysterics; no, I'm fucking terrified. This man will kill me and my guards have not yet come. Nobody is here. Who the hell is this man?! Who sent him here to kill me, and why?! He slaps me across the mouth with the back of his hand before holding the dagger to my throat, leaning in close to my face. His face is concealed in the darkness and the hood over his head, and I can't recognize his voice.

"Don't you fucking dare make another fucking move or I will fucking slit your throat just like I came here to do!" he hisses. "It'd be a shame, really, to see a young queen killed just barely a day after returning to court, don't you think?"

Fury and defiance surges through me. I won't let this bastard win. He will regret touching me, when all is said and done. I'm a queen and he is _nothing. _I swing my leg around his waist and flip him off me; he falls onto the floor and I take off running out the door. I yank the gag out of my mouth…

…And I scream.

* * *

"Oh my god, Mary!" I look up to see Francis rushing towards me. It's been an hour since the attack and the castle is in an uproar. Henri is…reprimanding my guards for their lack of responsibility and how that lack of responsibility almost got me raped or killed or worse. Catherine has all guards out on patrol; not a single man will rest until my assailant is found and captured.

"Francis!" I exclaim. Francis envelops me in his arms, holding me close. He winds his hand through the hair on the back of my head and I bury my face in his shoulder, letting out a choked sob. I cling to him as I let my terror consume me completely. I'm oblivious to the fact that I'm shaking uncontrollably as I break down in his arms.

"You're okay, Mary," he whispers soothingly. "You're okay. We're all going to be okay." I nod into his shoulder, not trusting myself to speak. "We're going to find this man and execute him for his crimes against you," he swears solemnly. He looks into my eyes, tenderly wiping a stray tear with his thumb. In his eyes is a raw fear and concern. Fear for what could've happened to me. Concern for me now. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you at all?"

"I'm fine," I answer. I disengage from our embrace so I can wipe my tears with the back of my hand. "I mean, he slapped me and almost killed me, but I'm fine. I have a couple of ideas of who could've sent him after me, but…has there been any luck in the search?"

"No. He seems to have vanished into thin air," Francis tells me. "How the hell…?"

"If this wasn't an assassination attempt," I begin, "it might have been just an attempt to scare me. By the English…or even your mother."

"You think my mom…_what_?" Francis shakes his head in disbelief. "Mary, she wouldn't do something like this. It has to have been the English. Who else could it have been?" I regret my words instantly. _You accuse his mother, the queen, of hiring someone to either rape you or scare you. Why would he even take my suspicions into consideration? _

"Mary, Francis!" Bash materializes through the crowd and embraces me. "I've been looking for you for this past hour. Are you okay, Mary?"

"I'm fine," I say. "I've been better, but I'm fine." I shake my head. "I don't think I feel comfortable sleeping in my own rooms. At least not while he's still out there. Jesus Christ, where the hell were my guards in all of this?"

"Your guards weren't posted at your door?" asks Bash incredulously. "They're always…"

"Unless whoever hired this guy decided to pay them off for the night," Francis realizes. "He pays the guards with 20 grand, the guards take the night off while he finishes off Mary."

"Fuck," I swear.

"It's going to be okay, Mary," Francis reassures me. "You can sleep in my room with me until this all blows over."

"Are you sure?" I'm staggered by such a generous offer. "You don't have to—"

"It's not safe for you to be alone," he says. "Mary, I would _never _do anything to hurt you." I nod wordlessly. "Where are your ladies? I would have thought they would be here to help us out."

"I'm not sure, Francis. I haven't seen them since before the party." My vision involuntarily blurs with tears. Francis holds me close to him and kisses my hair. "Of course. I almost get murdered in my sleep and they can't even make the extra effort to come and see if I'm still in one piece!" My voice breaks on a sob.

"I'm going to check in with Catherine to see if there's any news," Bash tells us. "I'm glad you're okay, Mary." Francis holds my face in his hands, and I melt at his touch. Our foreheads meet as he says softly, "Shhh, shhh. Deep breaths, Mary. Deep breaths. Remember to breathe. You're okay now. You're alive. The bastard didn't win." His voice soothes me, his touch ignites me. "This is all going to be over soon, I promise." There is a fierce determination in his voice, a protectiveness over me.

"Can you get me out of this room, please?" I ask. "I feel like I can't breathe." Francis nods and he takes me upstairs to his chambers. He locks the door behind us as soon as we arrive.

"You should get some rest, Mary," he says. "You've been through a lot today." I nod wordlessly as I climb into his bed. He lays down next to me; our eyes meet. Tears are still silently sliding down my cheeks, much to my embarrassment. Wordlessly, Francis takes my hand in his. Our fingers interlock with each other.

"Good night, Francis," I whisper.

"Good night, Mary."


	4. Surrender

Francis's fingers are entwined in mine, giving me a strong sense of security. His arm is wrapped possessively, protectively, around my waist as he sleeps. I'm unable to help myself as I turn so I'm facing him. Francis de Valois is asleep right next to me; what a gorgeous view! He is completely serene and yet, I know that he is prepared to protect me should my assailant try to kill me again. I reach for him, gently stroking his face. Unconsciously, Francis leans into my touch.

"Mary," he whispers. "_Mary_." I take his hand in mine and kiss his knuckles. There is nothing but us. The rest of the world is nonexistent. I realize that he must be dreaming of me. "Mary," he sighs as he stirs.

"Shhh, shhh," I say softly. I snuggle closer to him, if possible, burying my face in the crook of his neck and drape his arm around me. I kiss his hand again as I let darkness take me into sleep's oblivion.

* * *

Francis is caressing my cheek. His touch is the first thing I am aware of. I almost open my eyes, but then I realize that he still thinks that I'm asleep. Our fingers are still entwined with each other. His lips brush my neck and it takes all of my self-control not to moan. Oh my god, Francis is driving me crazy. There is something going on between us and we're both afraid to act upon it. More than anything, I just want him to be honest with me about what he wants, but I know not to push him about it.

Francis's lips are still at my neck and I abruptly swing my leg around him, propelling myself so I'm straddling him. "Good morning to you too," I exclaim.

"Jesus Christ, you startled me!" Francis laughs. I smile down at him as he brushes his hand through my hair. "God, Mary…" His hand slowly finds its way down to my breast and I lean down so we're looking straight at each other. God, I want to kiss him so badly and I know he wants to kiss me, too. His eyes are filled with awe as he stares at me. How much longer can we go on like this? Acting but not acting on whatever is going on between us? He cradles my face in his hands and I can feel myself losing control. _Fuck. _I want to lose control and just lose myself in him completely, but I can't. I immediately pull away and clear my throat.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Francis. It's…it's just not right," I say hastily.

"It is right," Francis tells me gently, "just not right now." He pauses briefly. "How'd you sleep, Mary?"

"Like a baby, honestly," I answer. "You?"

"Like a baby," he echoes. He takes my hands in his, our fingers interweaving. "How're you feeling?"

"A lot better, actually, but I'd breathe easier knowing that whoever attacked me has been disposed of." I climb off him and off the bed and he sits upright. "You think they may have caught him overnight? I know, it's a bit too much to ask for, but…"

"Knowing my parents, I wouldn't be surprised if they managed to pull it off," Francis admits. "They have always tried to keep this castle's security top-notch."

"Well, let's go see if they've been successful," I tell him. I reach for his hands as I lead him out of the room. And for once, I feel a sliver of hope that things just might be okay.

* * *

"Wait, you actually found the guy?" I ask incredulously. "How did you do it so quickly?" Catherine chuckles humorlessly.

"Mary, darling, we've dealt with this kind of thing a lot longer than you have," she says curtly. "We found him scurrying through one of the castle's secret passageways and managed to pry some information out of him."

_So, Catherine isn't responsible for my attack, _I realize. I exchange a glance with Francis and, sensing my growing uneasiness, he grabs my hand and squeezes. I return the pressure as a silent thank you. _It's over now. It's going to be okay. _"What did he tell you?" I ask.

"It was like pulling teeth, but he mentioned that England was involved," Henri explains.

"England? Elizabeth?" Francis demands. "Father, we need to do something. We—"

"Francis, son, we have it all under control," his father reminds him. "We've taken measures to ensure not only Mary's safety, but the safety of everyone here in the castle. The secret passageways have been blocked. Nobody is sneaking in nor sneaking out."

"What of my attacker?" I press. "What are we going to do with him?"

"Oh, we'll deal with him. He's going to be executed tonight," Catherine says nonchalantly. "Mary, Francis, you have nothing to worry about. I promise."

"Thank you," I say. "Is it alright if I speak with him? I want to know what he knows. If my cousin did indeed send him, I should have as much information as possible."

"Are you sure about this, Mary?" Francis questions me. "This man is dangerous. If he does anything to hurt you—"

"I have to do this, Francis," I say firmly. "I'll be okay. After tonight, he will never be able to hurt me again." I face him, stroking his cheek with my thumb. "I'll be okay. I promise." I kiss his cheek and brush my hand down to his heart before making my way out of the throne room and to the dungeon.

* * *

_Dammit, Mary. Why the hell didn't you ask for a gun before coming down here? _I reprimand myself. I find my assailant's cell, the only one that isn't vacant, and I knock on the bars, startling him from his sleep. He's resting on a makeshift bed made from the mattress and his food has hardly been touched. What the hell has he been doing down here?

"What the fuck you doing?" he shouts. "I'll kill you, I swear to God! I should've opened your throat last night!"

"Stop talking," I snap. "Henri and Catherine say that my cousin decided to be a doll and grace me with the pleasure of your company."

He laughs like a madman. I have to resist the urge to slap him across the face just so he can shut up. "What does it matter if Bessy sent me? I'm a dead man! And I'm not telling you anything, cunt!"

"You spilled the beans to the king and queen of France, you sick bastard," I snarl. "Now, you will tell me everything you know otherwise I'm going to fetch the torturer. And although I may not know what exactly is going through that sick little head of yours, I'm pretty sure you don't want to go through that again? Am I correct in this assumption? Or are you one of those sick fucks who thrives on pain?"

"These fucking bars are the only things preventing me from going over there and squeezing the life out of you," he hisses. I stare at him in revulsion. This is the man Elizabeth sent to kill me and he is absolutely criminally insane. He won't tell me anything. My cousin's secrets will die with him. "I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, BITCH! I'M GOING TO SLIT YOUR THROAT AND FEED YOU TO THE DOGS!"

"No, you won't," I say coldly and calmly, "because you'll be dead by morning." I slowly turn on my heel and walk away as he begins to scream in rage, a loud, harsh, guttural scream that sends shivers down my spine. My hands are shaking involuntarily and I hastily shove them in my pockets.

"Your Majesty," one of the guards greets me.

"Make sure he doesn't get out of that cell," I order him. "If he does anything, kill him on the spot." I don't hear his affirmation, for I pick up my pace, trying to calm my breathing. _Breathe, Mary. Just breathe. _What the hell was I thinking, trying to extort answers from my attacker? He had no reason to give me answers, even under threat of torture – and there is no reasoning with a man who has no reason. I don't want to face the king and queen – even Francis, after this. I can't, but I know they're expecting my return. I'm a queen, not a scared little girl.

* * *

"Mary, you're back already," muses Catherine. "I didn't expect it would go that quickly between you two." Her tone is acerbic, almost mocking. "Did you learn what you needed to know?"

"Mother…," Francis says warningly.

"Francis, it's fine," I tell him. "Catherine, I didn't learn anything aside from the fact that he is criminally insane. It's for the best that he be executed as soon as possible. Earlier than tonight, perhaps. I don't feel secure as long as he's still breathing." Henri nods slowly, taking my suggestion into consideration. Catherine is almost unreadable; her eyes are poison as she stares at me. "We've imprisoned an insane man. It's not safe for anyone with him lurking in the dungeon, possibly plotting his next move."

"Nothing like housing the insane," Henri says humorlessly. "You're right, Mary. He must die, and soon. We can't have a mad assassin running about the castle or running back to report to England. No, he'll be executed. Thank you for sharing your concerns. Francis, Mary, you have my permission to go." Without another word, Francis escorts me out of the throne room.

"Mary, are you alright?" he asks me. "You're shaking." He reaches for my hands, pulling them out of my pockets. "Jesus, what happened in the dungeon? Did he hurt you again?"

"No, no, he didn't hurt me," I say. "He just scared me. I'll be okay. He's going to die sooner than tonight, so we can all breathe easier, as your father said." I force a smile. "As certain as I am about political matters as far as your parents are concerned, Francis…I would much rather have hope with you than certainty anywhere else. I feel secure and safe with you."

"Mary…"

"And I know that you aren't sure about our marriage. I know that," I continue, "but I can't keep on pretending that there isn't something going on between us. I know, it's crazy. It's only been a day since I came back and things are already getting crazy, but…I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't have feelings for you. I'd be lying if I said that if something were to happen, I wouldn't save you without question – because I would." I smile sadly, running my hand through his blond curls. "But you don't feel the same way about me. I need to accept that. For us to stay sane, it's best that we stay apart."

"No, Mary…," Francis begins. His azure eyes are filled with shock and pain, overwhelmed by my words. "Mary—"

"Please, Francis. Don't make this any harder for me than it already is," I plead. Much to my chagrin, tears are stinging in my eyes and blurring my vision. "You have my blessing to be with another upon our marriage. It's okay, Francis." He touches my face, and for a moment, I think I see tears shining in his eyes. I kiss his palm before hastily taking my leave.

I don't even remember making it back to my rooms, but when I do, I jump when the door slams shut behind me. I whirl to see Francis standing in the doorway. "Francis, what are you do—" I don't even finish my sentence, for he grabs my face and his lips hungrily take mine. The kiss is raw, passionate, hungry. My fingers are knotted in his hair as I pull him closer to me, if possible. I don't remember falling back onto the bed; Francis absolutely consumes me. I'm breathless from his kisses and I want more. I want him completely, entirely.

"Francis," I sigh between kisses.

"Oh, Mary," he whispers. His mouth claims mine and for a moment, I can taste the saltiness of his tears. My face is wet with our mingled tears. His hands find the hem of my tank top and I discard it immediately, throwing it to the floor. I practically tear his shirt off him and I stroke his bare, muscular chest. I'm feverish with desire and Francis knows it. His eyes are devouring me, making love to me, and I want nothing more than for him to make love to me. Francis kisses me between my breasts, slowly making his way down. I'm scarcely aware of his hands unbuttoning my jeans, slowly pulling them down as he too slowly goes down too. Francis kisses my thigh, once, twice, before his mouth finds my womanhood. White hot pleasure surges through me and I cry out in ecstasy as the first orgasm pulses throughout my being. I arch my back, bringing a hand to my brow, overcome by Francis as he loves me with his tongue.

"Oh my god, Francis! Don't stop, please don't stop!" I cry. "Please, don't stop!" His tongue plunges in and out of me, circling and plunging back in again. I'm begging within minutes; why hasn't he taken off my undies yet? His lips find mine once again briefly before finding my neck. He sucks at the nape of my neck and bites; I wrap my legs around him, desperate to bring him closer to me, grinding against him. "Francis," I cry.

Francis looks into my eyes; we are both breathless and startled by our passion. He holds my face gently, as though I were a fragile dove in the hands of a giant. "Mary, we shouldn't," he says huskily. "Not now." Only then do I realize our situation. _It's only been a day and, god, as much as I want to, the timing isn't right. _

"Right," I say. Francis hurriedly climbs off me; I notice his visible effort not to stare at my breasts as I bend down to reach my jeans. My body is tingling with the memory of Francis's touch and I try to conceal my smile as I slip my jeans back on. There is an awkward atmosphere; we are both silent as we recover our lost articles of clothing. I reach for my brush in one of my bedside table drawers and brush my hair out, flustered. "Why don't we just take things slowly?" I suggest. "And not rush into it?"

"That sounds nice," Francis agrees. He draws close to me and kisses me softly. I restrain myself this time, but I return his kiss nonetheless. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay," I respond, and I kiss him one more time before he walks out the door. _Oh my god, Mary. You don't even know what you're getting yourself into. _

"Mary! Jesus, where have you been?" Kenna barges into the room, with Lola, Greer and Aylee following behind her. "We've been looking for you; tracking you down has been almost impossible!"

"I've been busy," I answer tersely. "Being the queen of Scotland and future queen of France, I've had some affairs to attend to. Political affairs…but why would you care?" Lola flinches at the harshness of my tone.

"Mary, what's bothering you?" she presses me. I shake my head in defeat and rise from my bed, approaching them. My disgust and disappointment with them boils near the surface and it takes a superhuman effort to keep my voice calm quiet.

"What's bothering me?" I parrot. "You're kidding me, right? Just exactly where the hell were you last night? Surely you were aware of the fact that I was almost killed or raped or god knows what else! The entire castle was practically in a riot afterwards! What were you guys doing? Where were you when I needed you?" The entire group is silent.

"We…honestly had no idea," Greer confesses slowly. "We left the party early, got drunk, and passed out. Only this morning did we hear about what happened."

"You _what_?" I exclaim. "You were getting drunk while I was going through hell!"

"Mary—" Aylee begins.

"_Get out_!" I shout. "_Get the hell out_!" Aylee gives me one more regretful glance as she and the others hurry out. The others are visibly shaken by my outburst as they silently leave. I quickly wipe away a stray tear.

_Damn you. Damn all of you. _


	5. Jealousy

The gunshot rings out in the middle of the night and I know that it is done. The man responsible for my attack has been executed. I sit upright in bed, startled, half-expecting another shot to fire before I realize how utterly ridiculous I'm being. _He's dead, Mary. He can't hurt you anymore, _I tell myself. I run a hand through my hair, taking several slow, deep breaths. Francis is asleep at my side; we are in his rooms since I don't want to be alone tonight.

"Mary, are you okay?" Francis asks sleepily. He reaches out for me, stroking my arm in reassurance. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," I tell him. "Just got startled by hearing a gunshot." I pause. "He's dead now, isn't he? Elizabeth's assassin?"

"He's dead, Mary," he whispers. "He won't hurt you ever again." He sits up, taking my hand in his, looking into my eyes. "I know you're scared of Elizabeth and what she might do, but I promise you, I will do everything in my power to protect you." I meet his eyes and I fall in love with him just a little more. _In love. _Oh my god. I'm falling in love with Francis de Valois. What the hell is wrong with me? Francis has just promised to protect me and here I am, thinking about him like a lovesick teenage girl! I mentally kick myself before speaking.

"I…I don't know what to say," I stammer. "Thank you, Francis." He smiles, silently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Can you hold me for a long while?" I murmur. Francis opens his arms as I lean into him, holding onto him as though he were my last lifeline. He kisses my hair before resting his chin atop of my head.

"I will _always_ protect you."

* * *

The next couple of months pass as the seasons do: slowly yet quickly at once. Affairs at court are of no serious urgency as Catherine and Henri temper the nobles and lords while Francis and I grow together in love. Things still are not yet the same between my ladies and I since being attacked; I find it hard to forgive their lack of compassion for drinking themselves to sleep when I needed them the most, but I know I won't be able to stay angry with them forever.

"Have you heard about that gang that's been creeping around the castle?" I ask Francis. We walk the halls of the castle, hand in hand. "They call themselves 'The Darkness'?" I shake my head. "People are crazy, I swear."

"Yeah, everyone here at court has heard of them," Francis tells me. "They're supposed to be a gang of religious extremists. I don't know why they're camping out around the castle and I definitely don't like it."

"Have your parents prepared the castle for a possible attack by them? Taken extra security measures?" I press him. I slap a hand to my forehead in embarrassment. "Shit, I'm sorry, Francis. I know you probably don't want to talk about politics and this castle's security, and—" He interrupts me by drawing me to him and kissing me.

"Mary, as long as you're by my side, I don't care what we discuss," he tells me. I kiss him and he kisses me back before nuzzling my earlobe, causing me to burst out laughing. He tickles me and I squeal in delight as I take off running. Francis chases after me; some of the lords and ladies give us strange looks as they see us chasing each other like small children. I'm soon breathless as Francis scoops me up in his arms, twirling me around bridal style. The halls ring with our laughter. Francis puts me down and I throw my arms around him, kissing him passionately. He knots his fingers in my hair, his tongue pushing into my mouth.

"You drive me crazy," he sighs into my mouth. I can't help but chuckle as we lean our foreheads against each other. "I can't wait until the wedding, Mary. I want you to be my wife and I want you to be the mother of our children together."

"Well, what's to stop us from getting married right now?" I ask him. "Your parents? I want to marry you and you want to marry me." I kiss him. "Let's elope. Find a priest and get married! Not even the king can override the word of God."

"We'll just see what happens, okay?" Francis kisses me again just as one of the pages comes sprinting up to him, breathless.

"Your Grace, Your Grace!"

"What is it?" Francis and I pull apart, startled by such a sudden interruption. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"There's a girl here, looking for you. She says she was attacked by the 'Darkness', but she won't tell the king and queen anything more than that," the page explains between breaths.

"The Darkness? As in that gang?" I ask. _Shit. _This is the first I've heard of them actually attacking someone and it scares the hell out of me. I can't help but pray that Henri and Catherine have set up extra security measures.

"Her name is Olivia, Your Grace. Olivia D'amencourt." Francis's eyes widen in recognition. Does he know this girl? How? How do they know one another? "She asks for your audience and yours alone," the page tells Francis. Francis nods and dismisses the page before turning to me.

"I'm sorry, Mary, but I need to go," he apologizes. Briefly, he kisses me before he hurries off after this mysterious girl.

* * *

I see them together in the courtyard. Olivia runs into Francis's arms, sobbing hysterically. Her entire form is shaking as she cries. Francis whispers words of comfort into her ear and I can't help but feel a stab of jealousy. _You may have been engaged to him since childhood, _my inner doubt whispers, _but what's to stop him from being with another? _

"Ah, yes. Olivia D'amencourt." I hear Catherine's voice beside me, condescending and poisonous all the same. "I remember her. She and Francis used to be close two years ago, before you showed your face again around here."

"How close were they?" I can't help but ask.

"They were lovers, my dearest Mary," the queen says bluntly. "I remember accidentally stumbling upon them in bed. Such an embarrassing incident on both of our parts. I'm not sure who was more mortified: Olivia and my son, or me." She chuckles. Whether it's at the memory or my dismayed expression, I can't discern. "Francis asked me not long after if it was possible if they could wed, actually."

"Excuse me?" I snap. The seeds of doubt, anger, and jealousy have already been planted in my mind. _Francis is committed to me…isn't he? _Just earlier, he was speaking of our marriage and our future together as husband and wife! He must be devoted to me, to us, surely. _But things can change. _"He wanted to marry her?"

"He did," Catherine goes on matter-of-factly, "but Henri wouldn't allow it, as I wouldn't. If anything, he'll take Ms. D'amencourt as his mistress after he marries you. That's what Henri did with Diane after I married him." She shrugs nonchalantly. "Don't get your hopes up, Mary." I don't even notice her slinking away; I'm too focused on Francis and Olivia. Do I trust Francis? Absolutely. Do I trust him with Olivia?

That question, I cannot answer.

* * *

"I'm sorry for running off on you the way I did," Francis apologizes. "I just had to see if she was okay." We are in his chambers, sitting in front of the fireplace. I lay in his arms as our fingers lace together.

"And is she okay?' I ask. "Olivia?" I turn around so I'm facing him. I'm genuinely curious as to what happened to her and what brought her back to court, in spite of my irrational jealousy. The question is on everyone's minds: Why is the Darkness just now starting to attack people? What kind of message are they trying to send? Olivia may have been just the first attack; she won't be the last.

"She's going to be okay," he says. "She's a bit shaken up, though."

"Francis," I begin, "your mother told me that you were once…involved with her? Is that true?" There is no point in sugarcoating nor avoiding the subject. We need to talk about this. "You two were together although you and I were still engaged?"

He sighs. "Yes, we were together," he admits. "It was two years ago. She ended up breaking things off with me because of our engagement."

"…And now she's back," I say resentfully. I'm unable to hide my displeasure at the notion of her staying with us here at court. _Come on, Mary. If you didn't know of Francis's history with her, you would have been perfectly okay with her staying. _I disentangle myself from our embrace, rising to my feet. Francis does the same.

"Mary, you honestly have nothing to worry about," Francis assures me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I'm committed to you now. What's between Olivia and me is in the past." His voice is sincere, but his eyes tell the truth. He is just as uncertain as I am now that she is here.

"Is it?"

* * *

I find myself dodging Catherine, Olivia and my ladies. I don't want to deal with Catherine's gloating over Francis's past relationship with Olivia, nor do I really feel like meeting Olivia myself – at least not yet. I'm still trying to work out my feelings towards my ladies since the incident a few months back – all I want is some time alone to myself. My mind wanders towards Francis. Is he with her right now? Does he still want her, in spite of everything that's happened between us these past few months? _Francis is committed to you…until he isn't, _my mind whispers. _Besides, you two wouldn't be the first royals to do be married to each other but only in name. _I swear silently to myself. I shouldn't be so apprehensive and unreasonable about Olivia. She came here because she had nowhere else to go, not because of Francis.

"Mary!" I'm startled out of my thoughts to see Bash headed towards me. "Mary, there you are! I've been looking for you for ages."

"Sorry," I say, "I've just needed some headspace." I lean against the wall, crossing my arms. "What's up?"

"I heard about Olivia," he admits, "and I thought you might need a friend."

"Bash, it's okay. Really," I insist. "Francis is allowed to have a past. All men have one. He'll sort his issues out with Olivia and then she'll leave us alone. I won't be that jealous, bitchy and clingy girlfriend who acts out just because a former flame shows up." _Stop lying to yourself, Mary. _

"Mary, Francis isn't going to leave you for her," Bash assures me. "This is only a temporary setback. You honestly have nothing to worry about."

"Don't I?" I retort. "He might as well take her as his mistress!"

"Mary—"

"Excuse me. I need to go," I say crisply. I ignore his calls for me as I walk away from him.

* * *

"…Just give me some time, okay?" Francis pleads. "I just can't kick Olivia out on the streets, Mary. Please, just trust me."

I turn to face him, my anger and jealousy boiling over. "And just exactly how long is she going to be staying with us, Francis? I don't want her here! Do you understand me? _I want her gone._" Francis stands up from the couch, towering menacingly above me.

"Mary, enough!" he snaps. "Olivia is staying and that's final." I meet his cold, hard eyes with my own defiance. "I told you already, you have nothing to worry about! We aren't getting back together, although that most certainly is an option." Those last words crack throughout the room like a whip, loud and short and yet brutal all the same. I take a step back from him, shocked beyond words. It takes a moment for me to find words to respond. I'm unable to read Francis's thoughts; he is not an open book. He is a mystery, an enigma, and the future king.

"I didn't realize you wanted to take Olivia for a mistress still," I say coldly. "After all, you wanted to marry her, didn't you?" I hurl the words at him without mercy. "Is that why you are so fucking adamant on her staying?" It's a low blow and I immediately regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. Francis opens his mouth to respond, but closes it as he tries to summon the right words to retaliate. I take the opportunity to keep going. "You know, Francis, you just can't decide—"

"Yes, Mary. I can," Francis growls. "Because this is my court, not yours, and I'm the future king of France."

"And I'm your future queen!" I retort.

"Then you'll learn to respect my decisions," he snaps.

"Respect goes both ways, Francis!" I remind him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're acting just like your father! I mean, you're the future king of France. You can have all the women you want without consequence, but if your mother were to be with another, she'd be executed on account of treason!"

"I am not my father," Francis says crisply. "The fact that you seem to think that I am speaks volumes."

"Then why are you acting like him?" I demand.

"Mary, I told you I was committed to you. What do you want me to do to prove that to you?" he barks.

"You want to prove to me your commitment?" I challenge him. "Fine. Give Olivia your hospitality all you want; I don't fucking care, but she is not staying here at court."

"I could always take her as my mistress," he reminds me cruelly. "Perhaps I should revisit that option." With those words, he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him, leaving me alone in his chambers.

The silence is heavy, just like my heart.


	6. Olivia

_I could always take her as my mistress. Perhaps I should revisit that option. _Francis's harsh words reverberate in my mind. My heart is heavy with regret. I completely overstepped by hurling his past relationship with Olivia in his face. We're both angry with one another and I realize now that I've been in the wrong. As much as I don't like Olivia's presence here at court, I don't want my relationship with Francis to become that of Catherine's with Henri. I am not Catherine and Francis is not Henri.

My cell phone vibrates. I swipe the screen to see a message from Aylee: _Pls just talk to us. I hate that we did what we did. _I sigh forlornly as I begin to type out my response: _U do realize that you guys left me when I needed u the most._

Aylee's reply comes in under a minute. _I know. Can we not do this over text pls? Meet us in the gardens. _

_Ok. _I'm almost hesitant to meet up with my ladies, but at the same time, they're my friends. It's been months since my attack and I can't stay angry with them forever. I hate being alone; Francis and I are on the outs about Olivia and I have almost no friends here at court. I would be a fool to think that I would befriend everyone; I'm the Queen of Scotland. I can't do this alone.

I can't.

* * *

"Thank you for meeting us here," Aylee says. "I was afraid you wouldn't come." She sits down on the grass with the others and gestures. I sink to the ground, waiting patiently for someone to say something. This is difficult for both parties involved, I realize.

"I'm sorry for freezing you guys out these past few months," I begin, breaking the silence. "I've just been so angry and hurt…"

"It's my fault," Lola confesses. "I was the one who suggested we leave the party, Mary. I don't know what happened. One minute, we were all dancing and having a good time. The next, we were practically wasted."

"So, you decided to sleep off your hangover while I was going through hell?" I demand, horrified. "I thought you guys were my friends!"

"And we still are your friends!" Greer insists. "Mary, please give us another chance. We screwed up and we screwed up badly. Can't we do something to make it up to you?" I stare at her, meeting her pleading eyes and those of Lola, Aylee and Kenna. I can't hold this against them forever. It wouldn't be fair nor right of me.

I find myself shaking my head. "No, there's nothing you can do to make it up to me, Greer," I admit, "but I forgive you. After spending so much time apart, I've come to realize that there's no good in harboring grudges. I need you guys. You're my friends….and to be honest, I'm not so sure if I can do this whole queen business without you."

"You may be a queen," says Kenna, "but you're also a human being. It's okay, Mary, we get it. I think it's fair to say that we all feel shitty for what we did. It was irresponsible of us, but we're glad you're okay." I nod as we all lump together to form one massive group hug.

"I missed you guys," I confess. I sigh. "You've probably already heard about Olivia D'amencourt," I say quickly, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah, we heard," Aylee answers. "Isn't she Francis's ex-girlfriend or something?"

"Yeah, she is," I say bitterly. "I don't know what the hell my problem is. I was talking with him about her and then I lost my temper…we both said things we regret. I don't blame him if he does decide to take Olivia as his mistress after we're married. You know, I threw it in his face that he once wanted to marry her in spite of our engagement. Why am I so freaking insecure? It's no wonder he's pissed at me: an insecure fiancée who lets her jealousy get the best of her."

"Talk to him, Mary," she advises me. "You can't avoid him for the rest of your life, same with Olivia. You're his fiancée. You're going to be married to him one day."

"He could be with her right now," I point out. "You know how it is. There's almost always still something going on between former flames." I'm scared of what I'll find, I realize. His relationship with Olivia had become pretty serious; he'd wanted to marry her, and now that she's back in the picture, I'm uncertain of our future together and it scares me. I'd always believed that we would be married once the time was right, but I didn't think it would be so hard either.

"If you don't do something soon, it might already be too late for you and Francis," Kenna warns me. "Aylee's right. You need to talk to him. Be honest with him, Mary."

"Tell him how I feel?"

"Yes, tell him how you feel!" she encourages me. "Go!"

* * *

I rap on the door twice, my heart pounding in my chest. Is Olivia with him? Are they talking together? I shake my head doggedly. _Christ, Mary. _The door finally opens, revealing—

"Olivia!" I exclaim, startled. What is she doing in Francis's room? "I…I wasn't expecting to see you here." My mind is racing. The sensible part of me believes that she and Francis would never rekindle their relationship, but another part of me is doubtful. Olivia's hair is wet and a towel is wrapped around her body. "Is Francis here? I need to talk to him about something."

"Yeah, he's here. He's in the shower, actually," she says pointedly as she runs her comb through her hair. "I can go and get him if you want. You might want to wait a few minutes." She pauses for a moment. "Am I supposed to know you? Are you one of the queen's lapdogs or something?" she asks flippantly. "Because I honestly have better things to do than have the queen of France poking her nose in my business."

"No, actually. I'm Mary. Francis's fiancée. Did he not tell you about me while you two were off showering together or whatever the hell it is you're doing?" I explode. I storm into the room and Olivia closes the door behind us.

"The fact that you're engaged to Francis means nothing," Olivia says bluntly. "You don't know what's in Francis's heart. I've known him a lot longer than you have. There are things that he's told me that he'll never tell you. He's coming back to me already, Mary."

"Francis is committed to me and to our alliance," I snap. "And our engagement isn't just about politics, not anymore." Olivia scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"It always was about politics," she hisses. "You might think he loves you, but what we shared was real. It was passion. We spoke of marriage and building our future together. The most attention he will ever give you will be in bed, Mary. Go ahead and keep practicing the sounds you'll make when he makes love to you during your consummation; it'll mean nothing to him. I'll become his mistress."

"I'm sorry, but I think you're confusing Francis for Henri," I say acerbically. "The only reason you're still here is because Francis insists. Soon enough, we will accommodate a place for you away from court." I smile sweetly and her hand strikes out, viciously backhanding me across the jaw. The blow cracks through the air. I stare at Olivia, bewildered.

"Olivia, what's going on?" Francis's voice floats from behind the bathroom door. He steps out and when his eyes find me, he stops dead in his tracks.

"I shouldn't have come," I murmur. I turn on my heel, taking off running as fast as my feet can possibly carry me. Francis calls after me, but I ignore him as my eyes burn with tears and spill down my cheeks relentlessly. How could I have been so stupid? Francis had said it himself that he might reconsider taking Olivia as his mistress! I should've known that he would get back together with her. Olivia's words echo in my mind. _You might think he loves you, but what we shared was real. It was passion. We spoke of marriage and building our future together_.

"Mary! Mary, please!" Francis shouts. I can hear his footsteps behind me as he chases after me.

"I don't want to hear it!" I snap. I'm scarcely aware that he's caught up to me until he grabs me by the wrist. I whirl around to face him, furious. "So, what? You're fucking Olivia in the shower now? She's your mistress? Good to know you're a man of your word, Francis!"

"Mary, I—"

"Just be honest with me, Francis. Were you making love to her in there?" My voice catches. Our eyes meet; his pained and conflicted and mine brimming with tears. He is completely and utterly silent. "I just…I knew that something would eventually happen between the two of you." I reach for my engagement ring and place it in his hand. "The heart wants what it wants, and yours wants Olivia. I shouldn't be in the way of that."

"Just let me explain! Mary, _please_!" Francis begs.

"What is there to explain?" I ask. "I thought you were a better man than your father, but I guess I was wrong in that. If you want to be with Olivia, then so be it. I don't want to stand in your way."

"Mary—"

"Goodbye, Francis."


	7. Trapped

**Reader discretion advised: This chapter features depictions of physical abuse. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

"Francis did _what_?" Kenna exclaims in dismay. "Mary, he wouldn't do that…would he?" I'm sitting in a circle with my ladies in my rooms, pouring my heart out. Tears are running down my face as I'm trying to make sense of it all.

"That's what I thought too, Kenna," I say bitterly, "but I was wrong. He was with Olivia and he's probably in bed with her right now." I shake my head. "I gave him his ring back, the one he gave me during the party on the eve of my return to court," I confess, showing them my ring-less hand. "If he wants Olivia, then he should be with her. He's made his feelings more than clear."

"Mary, you shouldn't give up on him so quickly," Greer says. "It sounds like he made a mistake. A bad one, yes, but a mistake all the same."

"You call sleeping with his ex-girlfriend a mistake?" Lola asks. "I know how sex has become this casual act these days, but I've always held to the belief that a night of lovemaking always means something."

"Wow, thanks for the pick-me-up, Lola," I say drily. "That makes me feel much better about Francis and Olivia. I really have to wonder if this alliance with the French is even worth it, and not just because of the problems between me and Francis right now. I'm sure other countries may be able to provide Scotland with more aid."

"You can't actually be considering breaking your engagement to Francis over this," she says slowly. Aylee says nothing as she stares at me in disbelief. "The king would be furious—"

"And I'm sure the queen would like nothing more than to see me gone," I finish for her. "I have no idea why my engagement to Francis makes her so afraid."

"Have you considered asking her about it at all?" asks Kenna. "I know you want to marry Francis and surely he still wants to marry you. There's nothing like in-laws who disapprove of the marriage."

I sigh in defeat. "I have, but it really doesn't matter, Kenna. I already have a good image of what my marriage to Francis might be like. This was exactly what I was afraid of: my relationship with Francis becoming that of his parents."

"Mary, you need to talk to him and let him explain," Greer urges me. "Don't throw everything away so soon. There is still a chance for you two to work things out."

"You told me to go talk to him and I ended up walking in on him and Olivia," I remind her, "but I also can't avoid him forever because we're getting married soon. Kind of throws a wrench in things." I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "I want things to work out between us, but how am I supposed to trust him after this? Is he going to have a mistress even after we're married?"

"Communication is the key to any relationship, Mary," she says. "You can't dodge Francis forever." Sensing my hesitation, she covers my hand with hers. "We promise you, we're going to be here every step of the way. You're not alone."

"Thank you, Greer." I manage a smile. "Thank you to all of you." I heave a sigh. I'm about to say more when there is a sudden fanfare. A royal arrival, I realize. But who?

* * *

"Prince Tomas de Aviz of Portugal!" the herald cries as all of court flocks to the throne room. I see Francis and Olivia walking together; they are visibly tense. _Did they argue about me after I walked in on them? _I can't help but wonder. What's with the trouble in paradise? Aylee ushers me along, tearing my eyes away from my fiancé and his lover. My ladies are buzzing with one another about Tomas, but I don't pay attention.

When we finally make it to the throne room, Tomas is standing before Henri and Catherine upon their thrones. I can't see his face, but something tells me that he isn't a sore sight on the eyes. Maybe it's his posture, his stance exuding arrogance… I'm just as curious as my ladies about this prince of Portugal.

"Your Majesties," Tomas says, bowing, "I thank you for your hospitality, as does Portugal." His tone is formal and polite, as it should be, and his voice is like silk. He sounds not much older than Francis, I note.

"You're welcome to stay as long as need be," says Henri, "but I am curious…what brings you to France? The women? The sights?" Catherine rolls her eyes at this comment.

"I'm here for to search for a wife," says the Portuguese prince, "and I will admit, the women of France do have a special sort of charm…but I have another bride in mind." Silence falls upon the court; I could've heard a pin drop.

"Mary, Queen of Scots."

"Tomas, Mary is betrothed to my son Francis," the king reminds him. "You can't wed her; I won't have the alliance between France and Scotland broken—"

"Engagements can be broken, Henri," Catherine says crisply. "Francis and Mary's marriage isn't set in stone just yet." She shifts her focus towards Tomas. "You can wed Mary, but only if she consents to ending her betrothal to Francis."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"We will discuss marriage contracts with Mary in our own time," she tells him. "Thank you for your time. Court is dismissed." Tomas bows again before turning on his heel to leave. My mind is reeling. He wants to marry _me_…but I can't understand why. I catch Francis's eye and there is a raw unease in them and I can't understand why. Why is he so ill at ease and why is Tomas so keen on marrying me?

"It looks like you may have an admirer," Kenna says in my ear as Tomas makes his way over to us. Francis's eyes are on him the entire time, as if he is waiting for him to…what? Hurt me? Tomas smiles graciously at me before he takes my hand and kisses it.

"Your Majesty Queen Mary," he greets me. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm sure you're wondering why I want to wed you since you are betrothed to the dauphin." He is most definitely not a sore sight, I realize. He's about Francis's age, and he possesses the traits of a Portuguese with his dark, tanned skin and thick accent. His short black hair is cropped and his brown eyes are piercing.

"I am indeed curious," I admit. "It's not often that I have two men vying for my hand in marriage, although with Francis, we've been engaged since childhood."

"I've always been interested in a Scottish alliance," explains Tomas. "My wife is dying, but she gave me her blessing to search for a new bride, a new queen, for Portugal. Scotland has always held my interest because of its unique situation."

"You mean, with Elizabeth trying to kill me?" I ask him.

"Well…yes and no," he tells me. "Come and walk with me, Mary." He offers me his arm and I take it, feeling Francis's eyes on us the entire time. "I want us to get to know each other before we're married, presuming Queen Catherine and King Henri free you of your engagement to Francis."

"Why me, Tomas?" I ask him. "Why Scotland? She's not exactly in the best state at the moment. The Auld Alliance is what will provide her with the strength she needs against England. And besides, I'm already engaged to Francis. Why would the king and queen release me to another?"

"Engagements can always end. Alliances can always break, Mary," Tomas continues, "and rumors tell that your engagement to the dauphin isn't as strong as it should be. France just might not be the best option for Scotland."

"You don't know that for sure," I protest. "Francis is devoted to me and to our alliance." Even as the words fall off my tongue, I find myself doubting them. Francis is with Olivia now, and we are both going down separate paths. We may not even get married, I realize.

"You don't sound all that certain," he says. "All the more reason why Portugal is the better option. France can't promise you marriage, but I can. _Portugal _can, Mary. Break your alliance to France and come with me to Portugal." I hesitate. I'm still loyal to Francis in spite of what's happened between us, but Tomas has a valid point. All France has given me are empty promises of a marriage that may not happen. Tomas is offering me a strong alliance that could actually come to fruition.

"You really want to help Scotland? Help me?" I press him.

"Yes, I do," Tomas answers. "Go speak with the king and queen and afterwards, we'll make marriage arrangements." Before I can say another word, he rushes off, leaving me to absorb his words. I'm tempted to take him up on his offer, but do I have any other choice in the matter? I have the choice to either doom Scotland to a hopeless alliance with France or take a chance with Portugal. I don't want to leave France, but if it means doing what's best for Scotland, then so be it. Scotland's welfare goes above all else, including my own happiness. I am the Queen of Scots. My duty is to my country. Francis is the future king of France; his duty will always be to France. We are rulers and I see that I have been left with my choice but to sacrifice my happiness for the sake of Scotland's well-being.

* * *

"Mary, I'm glad you were able to make it," says Henri. "Catherine and I have discussed Tomas's newfound marriage proposal and I thought it was only best that you have a voice in this matter."

"Thank you for your consideration." I sit down with the king and queen at the long-table; we are in the privy council chambers. Nobody else is here: no lords, no noblemen, no ladies of the court. Just myself and the king and queen of France. "I know that my engagement to Francis is still withstanding. Tomas's offer was…very sudden," I begin. "What have you guys decided?"

"I want you out of this country," Catherine says sharply, "away from Francis. This betrothal between you is nothing but a waste of our time and our finances. France can't afford to waste any more money on an alliance that isn't even worth it. My husband, however…"

"Your engagement to Francis isn't as strong as it should be," Henri says, "but I believe that can be remedied with time. You are a valuable asset to this country, Mary. The Auld Alliance is crucial to the survival of both of our countries. France and Scotland both have a common enemy: England."

"I don't understand. Are you releasing me from Francis?"

"Only if that's what you want," he answers. He slides some documents in front of me with a pen. "These are the official documents that, if you sign, would verify the end of your engagement to my son. I would very much advise you not to sign, if you want my honest opinion. I would have you married to Francis within the next two weeks."

"Thank you for the courtesy," I say evenly, "but I'm capable of making my own decisions about whom I will marry." I take the pen and scribble my signature where needed: _Mary R. _"I'm leaving France and I will wed Tomas." I've given up hope for my relationship with Francis. It's over between us. The sooner I leave, the less painful it will be for us both.

* * *

"You're leaving?" Aylee cries. "You're marrying Tomas?" I don't say a word as I continue to pack my possessions in my suitcase. "Mary, you can't leave!"

"I have to, Aylee," I say quickly. "I'm not doing this to piss off Francis. I'm doing this for Scotland, okay? Tomas has promised me that Portugal will be worth it. He can give me what Francis can't."

"And what is that?" she demands. "Love? Passion? _Marriage_?" My hands fumble for the zipper before I close my baggage. I don't realize that I'm shaking. _Am I way in over my head? _What am I doing? Will I regret leaving behind everything I've come to love here in France? "Mary, just because Tomas is actually willing to marry you doesn't mean you should just jump into forming new alliances. Do you even know the guy?"

"I know that his wife is dying and that he needs a new wife to keep the Aviz bloodline going," I tell her. "I don't have any other choice. I have to marry him, for Scotland. Scotland needs its king."

"You should at least marry someone you love, Mary!" she insists.

"Kings and queens don't have that luxury, Aylee," I say forlornly. "I thought I had that with Francis, but it doesn't matter anymore. I'm marrying Tomas." Aylee stares at me in dismay before she storms out of the room. I never expected her or any of my ladies to understand why I'm doing this, but it's for the best. I am the Queen of Scotland and she comes first, above all else. It hurts like hell to leave France and Francis behind, but it's now or never. I can't let Scotland fall vulnerable to her enemies. I won't.

I'm startled out of my reverie when the door suddenly opens. It's Francis. His expression is pained and his eyes are filled with regret. "Francis…"

"Mary, I…please, don't go," he says quietly. "It doesn't have to be this way."

"Doesn't it?" I challenge him. "I'll be out of your hair and your mother's within the next few days and you can go and be with Olivia for all I care."

"I didn't—I didn't come here to fight with you," Francis murmurs. "Mary, _please. _Don't leave." I shake my head, trying to drown out his words. No, no, no, I can't do this. I can't say goodbye to him. I don't want to, because I know that I'll forgive him for his tryst with Olivia – and I know that it's best that I leave while I'm still angry with him.

"Francis, please don't make this any harder than it already is. Just let me go." I can already feel my resolve wavering. I love him and it hurts knowing that I'm leaving now, after what's happened between us.

"I used to think that we were the lucky ones," he says despondently, "with the days we spent together as children, the time that we had together these past couple of months…but now I feel those days as something sharp piercing my heart."

"Let's not speak of this," I say quickly. I find myself approaching him in spite of myself and he holds my face in his hands. "I just…I wish—"

"We can't, Mary," Francis tells me, knowing what it is I wish. What we both wish. "The castle and Tomas and Olivia…it's too risky."

"Francis…" _He wants me. Not Olivia. _"Maybe we can go somewhere else. Alone." Our chambers are immediately out of the question. We'd be seen together and God only knew what would happen if we were caught. "The lakeside. At sunset." Francis pulls me close, our lips colliding, with our childish discrepancies over Olivia forgotten. I want to be with him. If I could, I would bring him with me to Portugal – but I know I can't. I would be executed for infidelity because I am not a king. I am a queen and my duty is to provide my king with heirs. Nothing more.

Before I'm aware of what's happening, Francis pushes me against the door, grinding his knee between my legs. Our kiss becomes heated and passionate and hungry. My fingers are knotted in his hair as he tears his mouth away to kiss my neck. His mere touch sends electricity searing through me as he kisses and sucks on my neck. I moan, burying my face in his shoulder. _Jesus Christ. _My mind has gone utterly blank. All I know is that I need Francis and his touch. His hands explore my body, stroking my breasts and cupping my ass. His mouth claims mine once again, eager for more. I realize that there is nothing to stop us from making love. The temptation is raw; the fruit is ripe for plucking, as it has been since the moment I came back to court. We are both within temptation. I'm completely at Francis's mercy as he continues to leave love bites all over my skin; it's a miracle we haven't started to undress each other yet. I'm pinned to the door as he ravishes me, worships my body.

His hands are tugging at my clothes. I gently push him away, shaking my head. "No," I gasp breathlessly. "We can't. God, I want to…but we can't." Francis nods in understanding. Jesus Christ. I just want to lose control with him. I hate how there has always been something keeping us from being able to just lose ourselves, but I know that we can't. If we made love and I fell pregnant with his child, it would mean ruin for Scotland and as Tomas's future wife, that ruin would follow Portugal as well. I can't do that to Tomas. Do I admire Tomas? It's too soon to say how I feel about him, but if we are to be married, I can't do that to him. I won't.

"You should probably finish packing," Francis says.

"Yeah. Right," I reply quickly as he turns to leave. My body is tingling and I can't help myself as I go towards the mirror in the bathroom. I turn slightly, brushing my hair out of my way so I can see my neck. Francis has left his marks on me; they're visible to the naked eye and they trail down my neck to my lower body. I lift my shirt to see hickeys trailing down my chest and to my thigh. _Holy shit. _

"What the hell are those?" Tomas demands. I jump out of my skin, hastily pulling my shirt down and concealing the marks on my neck with my hair. I whirl around to face him, startled by his intrusion.

"Nothing, Tomas," I say uneasily. "It's fine." Tomas's features are twisted in disgust and fury as he swiftly advances towards me; I'm leaning against the counter, a wordless terror gripping me. He grabs me, flips me around so I'm facing the mirror, and seizes a handful of my hair, yanking it back forcefully as he examines me. I cry out in pain. "Tomas, you're hurting me!"

"Did Francis give those to you?" he snarls. "Have you been with him, so soon after you've agreed to become my wife?" He pulls my hair back even further, until tears are streaming down my cheeks, forcing me to nod. "You Scottish _slut_!" he roars. Keeping his grip on my hair, he bashes my head into the mirror. The glass shatters upon impact and I scream in terror as shards fall around me. What's left of the mirror is stained with blood as I shakily come away from the counter, tears relentlessly pouring from my eyes.

"Tomas, _please_…"

"Don't talk unless I ask you to!" he bellows. I jump again and he grabs me by the arms, his nails digging into my skin. "I'm going to tell you this once and if you know what's best for you, you'll listen. _You are my property now. _I'm your king, not that French piece of shit you were once engaged to. You will not see him anymore, otherwise I give you my word, you will rue the day you defied me!" He shakes me violently. "_Did you fuck him?_" he screams into my face. "_Did you fuck Francis_?'

"What?" I manage through my uncontrollable trembling. "I…what—no! I'm a virgin, Tomas, okay? I'm a virgin, I'm still a virgin!" I can barely stand upright; my entire frame is shaking. I can't breathe. My palms are sweating and it's impossible for me to form a coherent thought beyond my sheer panic.

Tomas stares at me for a brief moment before grasping my chin and striking me across the face. Once, right to left. "_That _is for dishonoring me as your future husband," he growls before hitting me again, this time left to right with a backhand. "And _that _is for lying to me." He releases me and my knees give out, "Clean yourself up, Mary. I want you to look beautiful when we leave for Portugal." I'm hardly aware of him as he takes his leave. I sink to the floor, curling up into a ball, and sob.


	8. Blood and Glass

**Reader discretion advised: This chapter contains depictions of physical abuse. Read at your own risk. **

* * *

My belongings are all packed for my flight to Portugal with Tomas. I'm still shaking from my encounter with Tomas only hours ago as I put concealer on my face where he struck me. I've showered, washed the blood and glass from out of my hair, and changed my clothes. I can't have anyone asking questions. Not my ladies, not Catherine, not Henri…not even Francis. I won't put anyone at risk of facing Tomas's wrath. There is no way out of this engagement. I will be with this cruel, monstrous man for the rest of my life.

I look out the window to see that the sun is setting. _Francis. _I have to meet him, I realize, not out of obligation and the promise we made to each other, but because I have nobody else to turn to. I won't get my ladies involved; Tomas would hurt them, kill them even, just as leverage against me to get me to cooperate with him. _Just telling Francis about what he did to you is risky enough as it is. _I slowly make my way out the door, keeping my eyes open for Tomas. I'm terrified of him hurting me again; the mere thought of seeing him again brings tears of fear to my eyes. I realize that I'm safe for now as I hurriedly make my way outside. I'm well aware of the risk I'm taking; if Tomas found out I was seeing Francis again, he would fly into one of his rages and hurt me again, but I'm keeping my promise to Francis. I need to see him again before Tomas and I leave for Portugal…because I know that if I don't, I will regret it for the rest of my life.

* * *

"Mary!" Francis exclaims. I look up from my feet towards him; I'm hugging myself, trying to shield myself from Tomas's lingering threat. His delight at seeing me dissolves into concern when he notices my body language. "Mary…what's wrong?"

"Francis. It's nothing. It's nothing," I lie. "I'm fine. Everything's fine." My breath is coming in ragged gasps and I'm shaking. I sit down on the soft grass, letting the sun bathe me in its warmth. Francis sits by my side, his azure eyes filled with worry. Silence falls upon us, my ragged breaths the only sound in the air. Slowly, gently, Francis reaches for my cheek. I tense, refusing to meet his eyes.

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you," he whispers, as if reading my thoughts. "I would _never _do anything to hurt you, Mary."His knuckles caress my cheek, the exact spot where Tomas hit me. I let out a hiss of pain; the bruise is still tender. Tears spill from the corner of my eyes, streaking silently down my bruised cheeks. "Did Tomas do this to you?" he asks me gently. "Did he hurt you?"

"It doesn't matter if he did, Francis," I answer shakily. "I can't get out of my engagement to him. I have to marry him, even if he does…hit me. I wouldn't be the first queen to marry an abusive man for the sake of her country."

"I swear to god, I will kill him for what he's done to you," Francis vows. "Dammit, I knew he couldn't be trusted!" I take his hands in mine, looking him in the eye. _I love you, but you can't save me. Not this time. _The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can't bring myself to say them. Saying them would make everything become real: the fact that Francis and I can't be together and that I'm trapped with Tomas. "When are you leaving?" he asks dejectedly.

"Within the next couple of days, I think," I say.

"I'm so sorry, Mary," Francis blurts out.

"What for?"

"For Olivia and…god, everything that's happened since," he confesses. "I've handled things foolishly. I never should have slept with her." He shakes his head doggedly. I'm not angry with him anymore; I can't bring myself to be angry now.

"Then why did you do it?" I press softly. Francis's eyes are ridden in guilt and agony; my heart breaks for him. I want nothing more than for us to be able to make things right, but we will never have that chance.

"I just…I had to forget about you for a while. I was angry with you—no, I was angry at myself," he explains remorsefully. "I handled things so terribly, and I'm sorry."

"No, no, no! Francis!" I cry. "Francis, it's okay. I'm not—I'm not angry. Don't blame yourself for this. Please, _don't_. It's not your fault, none of this is your fault." He tears his eyes away from me, trying to hide his pain. I gently reach out, stroking his curls at the back of his head. "Shhh, shhh. Francis. Francis, hey. Look at me. None of this is your fault." I pull him into my arms and we hold onto each other in the heavy silence.

I don't know how long we hold each other. Minutes? Hours? All I know is that I don't ever want to let go of Francis. I hate how he blames himself for my predicament with Tomas and I hate myself. I hate myself for falling into Tomas' trap of a promised marriage and a more secure alliance for Scotland. Tomas just came to court at the right time just so he could manipulate me into marrying him. _Oh my god. This was his plan all along, _I realize. _I'm nothing more than a prize to him. When he's done with me…after I give him heirs, he might kill me. _I shake my head before gently pushing Francis away.

"Are you going to be okay, Mary?" Francis questions. "I don't like the thought of you being with Tomas, alone or not."

"I'll be fine." Even as I say it, I know that I won't be okay. I've taken a huge risk just by coming here. I kiss him before I rise, a quick but deep kiss. "I need to go. If Tomas finds out that I came here to meet you…" I'm unable to bring myself to continue, but Francis merely nods in understanding, climbing to his feet.

"You should go," he says. I nod and I turn to go, my heart hammering in my chest. I've barely taken three steps when Francis grabs me, crushing my lips to his. I'm unable to stop myself from throwing my arms around him. I crave him like a man dying of thirst. I crave him desperately, and I know that I will never be satiated. I can't get enough of him. I can't get enough of his touch, his kiss, the feeling of his hands on me as they caress every inch of my body. He kisses me as though this is our last, and I suppose that, in a way, it is. We find ourselves on the grass, entangled in one another. I wrap my legs around Francis's waist, hiding my face in his shoulder as his lips seek my neck. I'm grinding against him, gradually building friction between us.

"Francis…oh my god, Francis," I moan. He pins my wrists to the ground, bringing his lips to mine again. His hand finds reaches between my legs and rubs hard against my clit, sending an orgasm jolting through me. I cry out in pleasure; over and over and over again, relentlessly and ruthlessly, Francis massages my clit. The ecstasy is almost unbearable—it's painful, even, but I relish it.

"That's it, Mary," he whispers huskily into my ear. "Come to me, baby." He pulls my shirt up, gently kissing my bare chest. His mouth kisses me between my breasts before taking one of my nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting on it. I'm rocking my hips against him as Francis drives himself into me. We're making love without actually making love. I gasp in surprise as he thrusts. Once, twice, three times, each one more powerful than the last.

"Make love to me," I whisper. "Please, Francis…please. I want to."

"Mary…we can't," Francis says. "I want you, too. I want to make love to you, but…god, not like this." I'm feverish with lust, so all I can do is nod.

"I need to go. Now." I say. Francis climbs off me and helps me to my feet. "I don't know if I'll ever see you again." There is a wet, hot stickiness between my thighs from the multiple orgasms Francis gave me.

"I guess this is…goodbye." Francis's voice is quiet, sorrowful. I know that if he kisses me goodbye, I won't be able to control myself. Twice now, we've almost lost ourselves in one another. If it happens again…I won't be able to stop.

"Goodbye, Francis," I say softly.

"Mary, I…"

"Shhh, I know, Francis," I murmur. "I know." I stroke his cheek with my thumb before gently kissing it.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

"I can't ask you guys to come with me," I say to my ladies. "It's better that you stay here in France, as far away from Tomas as you can. I don't want him to hurt any of you the way he's hurt me." I let out a shaky breath. "I don't want you to come with me to Portugal, for your own protection."

"Mary, we're your friends!" Lola insists. "Please, let us help you. We can protect you from Tomas—"

"No, Lola!" I cry. "You can't! None of you can, that's just the problem! I won't have anyone hurt because of me. I couldn't live with myself if Tomas hurt any of you."

"Tomas is a monster!" interjects Greer. "If you won't let us come with you, you need to break this engagement. I won't watch you get trapped in a cruel, loveless and abusive marriage. I just can't."

"How the hell would I do that, Greer?" I demand. "I just met up with Francis; if Tomas knew, he would probably kill me! God only knows what he would do if I tried to end our engagement!"

"Come up with a story. Do something, anything!" she explains. "You—" The door suddenly opens. It's Tomas, and he is absolutely furious. His face is beet red in his rage as he storms towards me. I back away from him slowly, numb with fear.

"YOU FUCKING CUNT!" he screams. "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO DEFY ME, YOUR KING, BY DEFILING OUR ENGAGEMENT?" He swings his fist towards my face and the blow sends me toppling to the ground with the taste of blood in my mouth. My ladies are terrified, screaming at Tomas. Kenna lunges for him, but he backhands her across the face before advancing towards me as I struggle to get to my feet. "I KNOW YOU WERE WITH THE VALOIS BASTARD. I KNOW HE'S BEEN TOUCHING YOU!" he bellows.

"_TOMAS, STOP IT!" _I shriek. "_PLEASE DON'T HURT ME! I'M BEGGING YOU—" _He slaps me across the jaw with so much force that I see stars and almost black out and all of a sudden, his hands are around my throat.

"SO, THE DAUPHIN'S BEEN FUCKING YOU IN SECRET, HAS HE?" Tomas roars. "IF YOU'RE SO DESPERATE TO BE FUCKED, HOW ABOUT I FUCK YOU BLOODY RIGHT HERE AND NOW IN FRONT OF YOUR FRIENDS?" He straddles me, not once releasing his grip on me. I kick and struggle against him, but my efforts are in vain. My vision is slowly fading to black. _Francis…I am so sorry. I love you. _

Tomas is suddenly pulled off me and I try to rise to my feet, coughing, and taking in several gulps of oxygen. "Francis!" I yell, but he can't hear me. He and Tomas are locked in fisticuffs with one another, and both have fury on their side.

"MARY, WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!" Aylee shouts.

"I'M NOT LEAVING FRANCIS!" A strange madness possesses me as I reach for one of the glass vases in the room and hit Tomas on the back of the head with it as though it were a baseball bat. He roars in pain as several of the glass pieces fall to the floor. My ladies have already fled the room, leaving me with Francis against Tomas. Francis grabs one of the largest, sharpest shards of glass and stabs Tomas in the chest with it, sending him falling to the floor in a pool of blood and glass. I can do nothing but watch as Francis punches Tomas in the face over and over and over again. His knuckles are covered in blood; Tomas is unresponsive to his blows.

"Francis! Francis!" I cry. My vocal chords throb with each word from Tomas's brutality. "Stop! Stop, it's over! It's over now." I approach him slowly. I look down; Tomas's eyes are open and unseeing, staring towards the ceiling. His face is battered and bloody and bruised and Francis is trembling. I gently pull him away from Tomas's…body.

"It's over. Tomas is dead. And I'm the one who killed him," Francis says flatly. His knees give out and I sink to the floor with him as we cradle one another in each other's arms, clinging to each other as though these moments are our last together.

"It's okay, Francis," I whisper into his ear. "We're going to figure all of this out, I promise."

"I love you so much, Mary," he says softly. "God, I love you."

"I love you too." I kiss his hair and close my eyes, letting Francis's presence and warmth soothe me.


	9. Aftermath

Francis and I are in a pool of broken glass and blood, holding onto one another like we're each other's last lifeline. Tears are silently falling down my cheeks as we cradle one another, rocking back and forth. I'm shaking uncontrollably, trying not to break down sobbing. I have to be strong, for Francis's sake. _He killed Tomas to save me. _His body is wracked with violent tremors and his breath is ragged and short as he buries his face in my shoulder. I'm not even sure who is consoling who anymore; all I know is that I need him and that he needs me. If we're going to get through this, we have to do it together.

Gently, I pull away from our embrace. I reach for Francis, softly holding his face in my hands. He looks down towards his bloodstained, shaking hands. "Francis," I say quietly. "Francis, darling, we should probably wash up before we tell Catherine and Henri what happened." I'm blind with tears and I can tell that Francis is trying to keep his emotions in check…for my sake. Slowly, we rise to our feet and head into the bathroom. Francis wordlessly turns on the water as he scrubs his hands, the blood—_Tomas's _blood—seeps down the drain. Tears are relentlessly coursing down his cheeks; he furiously shakes his head, leaning against the counter.

"I…I killed him," he chokes. "Jesus Christ, I just—" A harsh sob escapes his chest and he hastily wipes his eyes. "God, Mary. I'm sorry. Tomas hurt you and here I am…" He trails off, chuckling humorlessly. "What are we supposed to tell my parents? And how are we going to avoid a war against Portugal?"

"We'll tell them the truth," I decide. "Francis, they need to know, They need to know about how abusive Tomas was and that you had no choice but to kill him…otherwise he would have killed me, but not before raping me in front of my friends." I dab some concealer on the red marks on my neck from when he was choking me. I grimace in pain.

"Mary, let me do that for you," Francis offers. I nod, giving him the make-up as he applies some of it on his fingers before gently dabbing it on my neck. My neck is crimson from Tomas's force; it hurts just to talk. There is a solemn, heavy silence between us that is filled only by our shaky, teary breaths. I wince as Francis puts the concealer on my black eye.

"I am so sorry that you did what you did in there," I whisper. "I never wanted you or my ladies to get involved. I didn't want any of you to get hurt because of me." Tears streak from my eyes silently. "Why did it have to come to this?"

"He would have killed you," points out Francis. "I couldn't let him hurt you anymore." He caresses my face, wiping away a tear with his thumb. "I promised you that I would protect you, Mary." His voice cracks and I wrap my arms around him, enveloping him in another embrace. We are both torn and scarred from this experience; our scars take different shapes and forms, but they have been inflicted upon us all the same.

"Um….what the fuck just happened?" Olivia demands. Francis and I jump apart, startled by Olivia's intrusion. I realize how utterly perplexing this must look; the bedroom floor is covered in broken, bloody glass with Tomas's beaten and battered corpse while Francis and I are in the bathroom, our eyes red from crying. "What's going on here?"

"Can you send for the king and queen, please?" I ask quickly. "Look, Olivia, it's a really long story…but can you just do what I ask?" She opens her mouth to protest before closing it and running off. I take a slow, deep breath; my hands are quivering. Francis takes my hand in his, our fingers interlacing with one another.

_We can make it through this. Together. _

* * *

"Oh my god, what happened here?" Catherine exclaims as she and Henri burst into the room. Francis and I walk out of the bathroom, keeping our fingers still interweaved with one another, silently supporting one another. She kneels at Tomas's body, examining it.

"Tomas is dead, Catherine," says Henri bluntly, "and Francis and Mary are at the scene. Son, can you tell us what happened here and why the son of the king of Portugal is lying dead with a shard of glass in his heart?" I glance towards Francis; he hesitates for a moment. I squeeze his hand in reassurance, encouraging him. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words are unable to come.

"He…killed Tomas," I blurt. "Tomas was…abusive towards me; he nearly killed me. Francis saved my life. He did what he had to do." Even as I say the words, everything feels surreal as if this is an out of body experience. Henri stares at us in shock.

"You do realize that this could mean war with Portugal," he points out angrily. "If we tell the Portuguese king that Francis killed his son—"

"Henri!" Catherine snaps. "Not now. Clean up this room and remove the body; we'll come up with a story." She approaches me and Francis slowly, her eyes soft and concerned. "Come with me to my chambers. We can discuss this matter there."

* * *

"Are you cold at all?" asks Catherine once we enter her rooms. Francis and I sit down on the couch. She meets our eyes before she sits across from us.

"I can't stop shaking," Francis tells her. "Why is it so cold?" I rub his arm consolingly, resting my head on his shoulder. I'm shaking as well, and his presence is the one thing keeping me from losing it.

"It's the shock from tonight's events," his mother answers. "There's a blanket on top of the couch, behind you." As Francis reaches for the blanket, wrapping it around us, she watches us pitifully. I snuggle close to him, holding his hand. "Francis, Mary. I realize that you've both been put through a terrible ordeal and I don't want you to go through this alone. I suspected that Tomas had ulterior motives for wanting to marry Mary from the beginning, but—"

"You pushed me towards him right when he proposed marrying me, Catherine," I remind her sharply. "A cruel and abusive man who could have killed me! Do you realize that at all?" Rage boils in my veins. Does Catherine really want me dead? Do I really pose that much of a threat to Francis, in whatever way that I just can't understand? "It seemed like a pretty easy way to get rid of me by throwing me into an abusive engagement, don't you agree?"

"Mary, I truly had no idea of what a monster he was," she says. "I swear, on my immortal soul, that I knew nothing of his true nature." She sighs heavily. "And even if I did, what good came out of this situation? Tomas is dead and he has hurt you and my son in ways unimaginable. You and Henri can talk about possibly renegotiating marriage treaties between France and Scotland another time. Now is not the time for politics. Tomas abused you, Mary. No woman can just bounce back from that; I wouldn't wish this on anyone…not even my future daughter-in-law. I may be a queen, but there are some things that I wouldn't dare wish upon my enemies. I am familiar with the pain you must be feeling and it is something no woman should feel. And Francis, I am acquainted with the shock and horror of killing a man for the first time. I am very much familiar with what you're going through right now…and it pains me to see it." Francis nods wordlessly, tears running down his cheeks. I plant a comforting kiss on his shoulder and he draws me closer to him, if possible.

"So, what happens now?" Francis asks.

"You and Mary can rest here for the night," his mother answers. "Your father and I need to make sure that the truth of what happened doesn't reach Portugal." She kisses his hair and he briefly pulls away from me as she holds him in her arms. "I promise you, Francis, that you won't go through this alone." Catherine winds her hand through his curls on the back of his head, cradling him, for several long moments. "Are you going to be okay for a while?"

Francis nods as his mother breaks their embrace. She is reluctant to leave him, I know, as she holds onto him for a little bit longer. Whether or not she's reluctant to leave him alone with me or if she's reluctant to leave him after the trauma of tonight's events, I'm not entirely certain. I turn towards him, circling small circles on his hand with my thumb.

"Are you really going to be okay, Francis?" I murmur.

"…Honestly? No," he says frankly, "but as long as you're here with me, I know I'll be okay." He manages a weak smile. "We should get some rest, Mary." I nod in agreement, but not before gently kissing him. Francis reclines across the couch, opening his arms for me. I climb atop of him, resting my head just above his heart as he envelops his arms around me. He kisses my hair, holding me close, and lets out a shaky breath. I look up towards him, kissing him softly. I can taste our tears as they mingle together.

"I love you, Francis." I nestle closer to him, rubbing our noses together. "You aren't alone in this, you know. We're in it together."

"I know," he says. "Mary…I know this is probably the least of your concerns at the moment, but I've decided to send Olivia to a private estate away from court. It's best that she spends some time away from us—"

"You mean yourself."

"I can't have her here with us. Not after what's happened," he explains. "It's too much to handle all at once. I'm sure she'll understand." I touch his face gently; he leans into my palm before tenderly kissing it. "She's never going to become my mistress. You know that, right?"

"Of course, I do!" I answer. "Francis, love…we don't have to discuss this right now, okay? I'm glad you told me, but I don't want to think about Olivia. I just want to be here with you."

"You're right," Francis says. "We probably shouldn't be talking about this right now." He rests his head back onto the pillow. "Goodnight, Mary."

"Goodnight, Francis."

* * *

My dreams are canvases painted in the art of terror as Tomas screams at me, hits me and terrorizes me. His face morphs into that of Henri's as he shoves me down onto bed, inhaling my scent. Henri's eyes are wild and mad and crazed with bloodlust. I scream and cry and struggle against him as his fingers wrap themselves around my throat, choking the life out of me—and there is nobody who will hear me.

"Mary? Mary! Mary!" The world is suddenly shaking and my eyes fly open. I jolt upright, scrambling from the couch and away from Francis. I'm trembling, hot tears cascading, drenched in a cold sweat. "Mary, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I answer quickly "I just…I just had a nightmare, is all." Francis rises from the couch and takes my hands in his. "He was…beating me and frightening me, but then he turned into your father? I-I can't say that I expected this to be easy, Francis, but even now, knowing that he's dead, he haunts me. I keep on expecting him to find us here together so he could find some excuse to beat me and—"

"Tomas can no longer hurt you," Francis promises me. "You're safe, Mary. I made sure of that when I…when I killed him. I won't let anyone hurt you. Mary, my love, my mother has guards posted outside of these rooms. She is doing everything in her power to ensure our safety."

"I feel like I should have a gun," I confess. "I don't feel safe. I know, it's irrational of me, but…I need to be able to protect myself. I know Tomas is dead, okay? I know you killed him; hell, I was there when you did it, but…"

"I understand. I understand," he assures me. "Mary, I love you and I will do what I can to help you through this, okay?"

I nod. "Okay," I say. His eyes are concerned, but I can see the ghosts from his actions lurking behind them. "Francis, I meant what I said earlier…about us being in this together. I want to support you as you've been supporting me."

"I know you did…but, Mary, I'll be fine. Really, I'll be fine," Francis insists. "This isn't about me. Tomas hurt you in a way no man should hurt a woman."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" I ask again.

"Yes, Mary, I'm sure," he swears. I stare at him for a few moments before I embrace him, brushing my hand through his curls.

_You're not okay, Francis…and neither am I. _


	10. Trauma

"How did you two sleep last night?" Catherine asks, sitting down across from us. She holds a tray in her hands with some toast and sausage and what smells like hot cocoa, placing it in front of us. "I trust that everything went smoothly since my guards had nothing to report?"

I hesitate to reply, so I just begin to eat. I can feel Francis's concerned gaze as he starts to eat his portion of Catherine's breakfast, but I try to ignore it. I don't want Catherine to worry about me-about us—more than she already has. I take a sip of hot chocolate before speaking. "How are things now? With Portugal, I mean? What's the story we're going to tell?"

Catherine sighs. "As far as the public knows, Tomas got into a bar fight and was murdered by some old drunken fool. The broken glass and the blood makes the story all that more believable. We're sending the body off to Portugal today." She pauses for a moment. "Francis, your brother wants to see you; I told him what happened. And Mary, your ladies too."

"Mother, it's fine. I'll be fine—"

"Catherine, please. I appreciate the gesture, but—"

"Just let us be here for you," the queen insists. "Trust me, I've been through all of this before. You think you're going to be okay and that you can do this on your own…but you can't. Henri and I will settle the matter with Portugal. Don't worry yourselves over the politics. You need to focus on healing."

"About that story...," I begin slowly. "How exactly believable is it? Because don't you think it'll be a bit odd for the nobles here at court to see me with a black eye? I mean, I put come concealer wherever Tomas hurt me, but—"

"Mary, don't worry about the little details of our story," she says. "It's all under control." She is about to say more when Henri barges into the room. Francis tenses and I reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. He returns the pressure and I softly rub small circles on his back. "Henri, if you're here to lecture Francis and Mary over what happened with Tomas, get the hell out," Catherine growls. "Do you even realize what they've been through—what your own _son_ has been through—over this past night?"

"Well, actually, I'm not here to give pointless lectures to children who won't learn," the king says casually, "although God knows that they can't do this kind of thing when they're king and queen." He rolls his eyes in disdain. Anger and disgust pulse through me as I rise to my feet.

"And what kind of thing would that be, Your Majesty?" I demand. "Did Catherine not tell you what happened? Did she not tell you what Francis had to do?"

"Mary, it's fine," Francis tells me. "Just leave it alone."

"Should I tell you, Your Majesty, or do you want Catherine do to the honors?" I shift my gaze towards Catherine. "Catherine, have you told him?"

"Oh, you don't need to worry, Mary," Henri informs me. "Catherine told me everything, about how you fell into an abusive engagement with Tomas and how Francis was 'forced' to kill him to save your neck."

I stare at him in shock and revulsion. "Do you even care for your son's well-being?"

"I care about the crown and conquering my enemies," the king answers callously. "All else is secondary. Once this issue with Portugal is taken care of, we should focus on England. Word has it that Mary Tudor is dying. Bitch needs to hurry up her crawl to the grave."

"Henri, can you just shove aside your political ambitions for just _one second_?" Catherine snaps, rising to her feet to face her husband. "Honestly, what the hell is wrong with you? It's like all you can think about is power and England! _Your son has endured a traumatic ordeal and your first priority is not his welfare, but politics_!"

"You forget, Catherine, that power is everything," he says bluntly. "I'm just trying to stay ahead of England while you play mother hen with Francis and Mary." He paces out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I jump, alarmed, and Francis buries his face in his hands.

"Mary, I think you should go," his mother suggests. "I'll stay here with Francis."

"Are you sure?" I ask her, slowly getting to my feet. "I want to help just as much as—"

"I'm certain," Catherine interrupts. "I think your ladies are waiting outside for you. Go. We're going to be okay, I promise." I make my way towards the door, but not before turning around to look on Francis. His shoulders are shaking with silent sobs; I cannot even begin to fathom what must be going through his head right now. I want to be there for him, but his mother knows what's best for him. Other than myself, she is the only woman who truly cares for him and loves him. We've both been traumatized by our experience with Tomas. The last thing I see before I close the door behind me is Catherine pulling her son into a loving, consoling embrace as he weeps.

* * *

My ladies are indeed waiting for me, I find. Kenna is the first to embrace me, before Lola, Greer and Aylee follow suit. I can see their concern written all over their faces as we slowly walk down the hallway.

"How're you doing after…last night?" Greer questions. "After we left, we saw the king and queen running like it was the end of the world or something." I shake my head.

"No. Olivia found me and Francis after you guys bailed on us," I explain. "I sent her to fetch Catherine…and here we are now." I sigh forlornly. "I'm so concerned for Francis."

"Mary, honey," says Kenna, "you need to focus on yourself, alright? It's great that you care about your fiancé, but my god, Tomas was a monster to you. He almost killed you!"

"And Francis killed Tomas," I tell her pointedly. "Jesus, Kenna…you weren't there, so you wouldn't understand. I'm sorry, but why am I telling you all of this?"

"Kenna, Mary, can you guys not argue about this?" interjects Aylee. "I understand that we're all a bit shaken after what happened, but we're stronger as a group." She stands between me and Kenna, and the tension in the air dissolves a little.

"Dammit, you're right. I'm sorry." Kenna withdraws into herself for a moment. "I'm just trying to help, that's all." She reaches over to hug me; I hug her back. I know she means well. It wouldn't do any good to provoke a fight between us, not now. "How are you, Mary? And don't say you're fine."

"To be honest, I'm….not fine," I admit, "but I'll manage. I just need to figure out my feelings and try to move on with my life." _And begin planning my future with Francis. We could be married any day now. _I don't want my life to be forever tainted by Tomas. I'm a queen twice over: the Queen of Scotland and soon to be the Queen of France. I need to be strong, if not for myself but for my country. For Francis. I love him and I know that he's hurting just as much as I am; he needs me as much as I need him. "He's sending Olivia away to some private chateau," I inform them.

"Wait, he is?" asks Lola, surprised. "Why?"

"Olivia's presence here is just a bit too much for him to deal with on top of what happened," I explain, "and frankly, I can't blame him. He needs time to cope and to heal. I need that, too." I remember the shell-shocked, horrified look in his eyes when he realized that he'd killed Tomas, and I can't help but shiver.

"Yeah…how is he dealing?" she presses me.

"He…he's a mess. He's trying to keep it together, trying to stay strong, for me." Tears burn in my eyes against my will. "I hate Tomas. No, I hate myself for letting things get to this point! I never wanted it to come to this. I didn't want anyone else to get hurt because I knew that something would happen."

"Mary, you can't blame yourself for Francis's trauma," says Greer gently. "Don't blame yourself for what happened. Tomas was a sick bastard. He is the one responsible for your pain—and Francis's. Not you."

_I wish I could believe that. _"It's only been a day and I feel like I'm sleepwalking," I confess. "Like, none of this is real. How can it be?" I press a hand to one of my bruised cheeks from the numerous times Tomas hit me. "How can this have actually happened?"

"You know that we're here for you," Lola tells me. "We're not going to leave you. You aren't alone in this."

"I know that, Lola. Truly, I do." I wipe at my tears that have now fallen from my eyes. "It's just hard. I know I'm not going to heal overnight…but god, I wish I could." There is no use in attempting to hide my pain—not just from my ladies, but from court. This isn't the fifteenth century. I'm sure that people are already speculating the reason behind my bruises and what really happened with Tomas.

"It's worse before it's better, Mary," says Kenna. "Just take the time you need, okay?" I nod and I'm sandwiched in a group hug.

_You can make it through this, Mary, _I tell myself. _You have to. _


	11. Secrets Bare

"You doing okay?" I ask Francis softly. We lie together in each other's arms in front of the fireplace in his apartments; time is nonexistent. The sun is setting outside the window as the day gradually dies to give birth to the night. "I wanted to stay with you this morning, but your mother gave me the boot. You were pretty upset."

"You don't need to worry about me, Mary," he answers. "That wasn't the first time my father's been cruel to me." The way he says it is utterly and completely casual, but there is also a deep sadness in his voice. "I'll be okay, I promise." Francis kisses my hair, gathering me closer to his body.

"Francis, darling," I begin, "I know how hard this must be for you. I'm not going to lie, sometimes I feel like I will never be able to get past what happened. You don't have to pretend that everything is okay. I want to be there for you. I want to support you, as your fiancée and as your future queen…because I love you. I love you, Francis, but I can't support you if you don't let me all the way in." My eyes find his. I clasp his hand in mine, holding it firmly. "I feel safe when I'm with you. Do you trust me?"

"With my life." No hesitation. He presses my palm to his cheek before slowly sliding it down to his mouth, planting a gentle kiss in my hand. "I love you, Mary. I love you and I hate seeing how much Tomas has hurt you."

"And I feel the same way about you," I continue gently. "Francis, there is nothing I wouldn't do for you. _Nothing_."

"And I you." He strokes my face tenderly. I melt into his touch, grimacing from the sore bruises on my cheeks. "Is there anything I can do to help you, Mary?" I nod slowly, taking his hand and putting it on my breast. I feel his heart race underneath me.

"Help me forget all of the times Tomas laid his hands on me," I murmur. I cover his mouth with mine slowly and gently. I can feel Francis's hesitance in his kiss, but it doesn't take long before his passion collides with mine as he pushes himself upright, running his hands down my back underneath my tank top.

"Tell me when you want me to stop," he says between kisses.

"Never." Francis claims my mouth once again; his hands caress and touch and fondle my body as if it were a delicate flower, knowing what cruelty and violence it has endured at Tomas's hand. I reach down for the hems of my tank top as his hands guide it up over my head, letting it fall to the floor and baring my breasts. I cup Francis's face in my hands as we kiss, slowly yet desperately, as though our lives depended on each other's touch. My hips grind against his, gradually building friction between us. I can feel the bulge of Francis's arousal through his jeans and I can't help but smile. I tug at the hems of his shirt, inching it over his head before tossing it to the ground. Francis grabs handfuls of my hair in his fists, gently tugging and pulling, not once breaking our kiss. Our tongues meet and interweave with one another forcefully.

I don't even remember how we make it to Francis's bedroom. He throws me down onto the bed, claiming me and ravishing me entirely. His lips seek the curve of my neck, kissing and sucking and biting as he runs a hand down my leg, swinging it around his back. "Francis, please…please!" I whimper. "Don't stop, please, don't stop!" I know that at the end of the night, I will not be completely and magically healed from the pain and trauma Tomas has inflicted upon me by Francis's lovemaking—but I want this. No, I need this. I want and need and love him. I want to surrender to him. He reaches for my jeans, unzipping them, and pulling them down and off my legs as he trails kisses down my body, leaving me in my silk, black underwear.

"Mary, you're so goddamn beautiful," he whispers huskily, and tears off my underwear. I am naked before him, my body and soul bared just for him. "You're mine, just as I'm yours." I'm surprised when he suddenly hoists my legs over his shoulders…before burying his face between my legs, his tongue rubbing against my clit, teasing and flicking at it.

"Yours…yes!" I sigh, leaning my head back onto the bed as Francis loves me with his mouth. I arch my back, screaming in ecstasy. I grip the sheets as pleasure jolts through me, hot and electric. Francis looms over me as he dominates me, his eyes filled with adoration and lust. I reach for him, but he secures my wrists to the mattress, pinning me down. I'm feverish with desire; why the hell isn't he completely naked yet? _This is Francis de Valois you're dealing with, Mary, _I remind myself. _He's going to take his sweet time. _

"Do you want me inside you, Mary?" he purrs into my ear. "Am I what you want?"

"_Yes._"

"I can awaken things inside you that you never knew existed," Francis whispers. I squirm beneath him; his eyes are devouring my naked form. Jesus Christ, this is a man who loves to dominate in bed. I wonder what other tricks he has up his sleeve. "All you need to do is surrender." I gasp as he slides two fingers inside of me; I'm wet between my thighs. Whether it's from my arousal or from my orgasms, I'm certain that it's from both. "You're wet for me, Mary." His eyes meet mine as he presses his wet fingers to his lips, tasting me, before running his fingers down my lips. The erotic act alone brings me to another orgasm.

"Make love to me," I beg. "Please." Francis pulls himself upright so he can unzip his jeans. I watch him, my body begging for his. He casually discards his jeans before his lips possess mine. I welcome his kiss, wrapping my arms around his back and weaving my hair into his curls. I gasp, moaning and shuddering in bliss as he penetrates me. The pain is sharp, but brief.

"God, Mary, you're so beautiful," Francis whispers, caressing my leg. Shivers crawl up my spine. This man is mine. Francis de Valois is mine, as I am his. "I love you." I reach upward and kiss him in response, my hips grating and swaying against him. The room is filled with the crackling of the embers in the fire and our sighs and moans of passion. Francis rolls…once, twice, three times. I scream in rapture, digging my nails into his back. I'm straddling him now, looking down upon him. I caress his chest, trying to find my balance on him as he runs a hand down the spot between my breasts. His eyes are filled with awe; I am his goddess, my body his faith as he worships me. I plant my hands firmly on his chest as I slowly begin to ride him, building a steady rhythm between us. Francis puts his hands on my waist, crying out my name.

"Mary! Oh my god…._Mary_!" Faster, harder, now. I sit upright, still riding him, no longer needing to use his chest to support myself. I orgasm again and again and again; I know nothing but pleasure. I am hardly aware of how loud we are in the fervor of our love; all I know is Francis and the passion of our lovemaking. Red hot bliss throbs throughout my body; this time, we come together as one flesh. Francis pushes himself straight so I'm sitting in his lap, my legs around his back and our bodily rhythm still maintained. He kisses me forcefully, hungrily, ravenously. I sigh into his mouth as he thrusts into me again and again. He grabs the hair at the back of my head as he sucks at my neck, kissing and biting.

"Francis, Jesus Christ, Francis!" I moan. "Oh, oh, oh..._OH_!"

"That's it, Mary," he sighs between kisses. "Come to me, baby girl. _Come to me_." His mouth trails kisses down my neck to my breasts, his hands roaming over my bare back. I tilt my head back, holding his head to my breasts.

"Francis, Francis, _Francis_!" Our tempo is increasing and becoming more frantic. "Oh my god, yes, yes, yes, yes, _yes_! That feels…oh god, you feel so good!"

"Mary…Mary, oh god…I could love you forever," sighs Francis. "I love you. _I love you_."

"I love you too, baby." I break our kiss so I can look into his eyes. We're breathless and slick with sweat, but I know that he doesn't want to stop. _I _don't want to stop. My hand combs through his soft, silky and lush golden curls, my other wrapped around his neck for support. "I love—" Francis cuts me off with a kiss just as passionate as the last. I wish more than anything that this night could last forever so we could make love without having to think about and face the horrors and the pain that Tomas imposed upon us.

"Oh my god, Francis…Francis! Francis! Francis!" Francis suddenly rolls, enveloping me in his arms as he thrusts into me over and over again. We roll across the bed and we come together as one, screaming our release, ending with me underneath Francis, gasping.

"Are you…okay, Mary?" he asks, trying to catch his breath.

"I'm fine," I answer. "Don't stop, Francis. Oh my god, never stop." Francis covers my mouth with his, taking me again into his arms as we surrender to one another.

* * *

The first thing I'm aware of is Francis's touch, his fingers lightly tracing small circles into the small of my back. Our naked bodies are intertwined with one another after our erotic and passionate night of love; my body aches from the vigorousness of Francis's lovemaking, but I relish it. I open my eyes to see rays of sunlight pouring into the room.

"It's morning," I say in surprise. _Did we really just spend the entire night making love? No wonder I'm so sore. _Francis beams at me and I find myself smiling back at him as he shifts so I'm underneath him.

"I know," he replies. "If the servants are gossiping about your unmade bed, it's too late to rectify the situation." He tickles the underside of my breasts and I burst out squealing with laughter, squirming underneath him before he leans forward to kiss the hollow of my neck.

"Do you think we're being too reckless?" I ask. I have no regrets about making love with him; I'm glad we did, but it would most certainly cause a scandal if I fell with child prior to our marriage.

"I'm yours," Francis murmurs, kissing my chest. "You're mine. I hope you're pregnant."

"_Francis_!" I exclaim. I pull myself up so I'm sitting upright. Francis reaches for my breast, fondling it, while he slides another hand between my legs, finding the wetness between my thighs. I shudder and moan, closing my eyes as I remember how good he felt inside me.

"It would force the wedding sooner. How could my father argue it?" His fingers rub against my clit before slipping inside me. The orgasm is fast, yet white-hot as it spreads throughout me.

"So, you don't think what we're doing is wrong?" I ask, half-moaning. "As we are not wed yet?" Francis takes my hand, pulling me closer to him as he caresses my thigh with one hand and rakes a hand through my slick and sweaty hair with the other. I reach out, stroking his chest. _Holy shit. _He is firm and strong; power and dominance radiates off him and I can't help but grin, knowing that this man is mine.

"After we rule for a great long while, and we leave France and Scotland to our children, and our grandchildren and our great grandchildren, and we meet our maker, you can ask him yourself." He hoists me up into his lap, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek and the side of my neck. I wrap my arms around him as he slowly, gently enters me.

"_Oh_!" I sigh. He rocks his hips, pushing and pulling at me. I take his face in my palms, kissing him deeply. Francis bites and tugs at my lip, moaning into my mouth. He rakes his fingernails down my back, instantly blurring the lines between pleasure and pain, but I don't care. My orgasm comes as the sharp pain of Francis's nails fires down my back.

"Jesus Christ, _Mary_!" he cries.

"Can we…stay here for a while?" I manage between kisses. "I…oh, oh, oh…_OH_!" I've reached another climax, as has Francis as we cry out for one another. "Oh, Francis…Francis!" Francis is sturdy and steady inside me as he pushes me to my bodily limits, the pressure between us instantly rebuilding itself. I entangle my fingers in his hair, pressing our foreheads together, as we rasp and moan and sigh.

"You're mine," groans Francis.

"Yours," I purr. "Only yours." He kisses me possessively as if to assert himself, pushing his tongue into my mouth as I continue to move back and forth across him, pushing into him harder and harder. "Oh…yes, Francis…yes! Oh god…please! Please, I need…"

"Tell me what it is you need, baby," he pants. "Tell…me." I kiss him before letting him bury his face in the crook of my neck.

"For…so long, I've craved this," I rasp. "You…inside me, pleasuring me…pushing me to my limits. Your hands on me…" I whimper as we continue to rock against one another. For a moment, I'm at a loss for words. How can I begin to describe what it is I want? I want him. I want Francis. I want this to last forever. "Fuck…Francis, I—"

"Shhh, take your time, Mary," he tells me.

"I…remember the first time…we danced? At the party on the evening of my return to court?" I continue. It's becoming increasingly difficult to get my words out. Francis is ravishing me and slowly unraveling me as I'm slowly becoming undone. "For…so long, I've always fantasized about what it would be like…to feel you. Wanting you…it's so, so—_oh_! Oh god…I want you. I want…_all _of you—oh, _OH_!" I fall back against the bed, Francis atop of me as he takes me into paradise. Our fingers interlace with one another as he drives into me over and over again, faster and harder and stronger. My legs graze his hips as he thrusts into me. Francis abruptly turns me over onto my side as he nips at and kisses my neck, his hands roaming my body, loving me from behind. I writhe and squirm before him. My body is begging for more. Begging for release. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take, but I savor it all. His lips discover my neck once again and I reach behind me, tenderly touching his face.

"Is this what you want, Mary?" Francis asks huskily.

"Yes," I murmur. I'm about to kiss him when the door swings open. Startled, we pull away from one another. Francis rolls away from me—out of me—dropping his head back onto the pillows as I cover myself with the sheets. It's one of the pages.

"I'm…uh, sorry to interrupt," the page stammers. His face is turning beet red as he speaks. "Um, Your Majesties Francis and Mary, the king wishes to speak with you."

"What about?" I press him. "Did he say why?"

"He wishes to renegotiate the marriage pact between France and Scotland."

* * *

"You wish to forge again the alliance between our countries?" I ask Henri. Francis and I take a seat at the council table with the king and queen, multiple documents spread across the surface. My fiancé is visibly tense as he glances towards his father.

"Yes, of course," he begins. "Your engagement to Tomas never came to fruition in a wedding and I know how much you and my son value your betrothal to one another."

"What about you, Catherine?" I ask pointedly. "Do you think that the alliance between our countries is worth salvaging?" She hesitates. What is it about my marriage to Francis that scares her so? I would never do anything to hurt Francis! Catherine de Medici is the Queen of France and there are some things about her that I will never know—but this is something I must know.

"Is this what you want?" She dodges the question. "Francis, do you want to marry Mary?"

"Yes, of course I do!" No hesitation in Francis's answer. Henri shoves the documents towards us; upon first glance, I know that my signature and Francis's will reseal our engagement.

"Good," the king says, "because Mary Tudor—the Queen of England—is dying. It's time you and Francis are wed."

"What?" I exclaim. Francis and I share a glance; he is just as shocked by this sudden turn of the tide as I am. _Now? Henri wants us to be married now? _

"Henri, don't you think it's a bit too soon considering what they've been through with Tomas?" protests Catherine. "They need time to heal. It's too early for their marriage! Is this about England—wait, don't answer that, _of course_ it's about England!"

"The fruit is ripe for the plucking, Catherine," Henri says bluntly, rising to his feet. "Francis and Mary will be married…tonight."


	12. Matrimony

"Can you breathe easier now?" Francis asks gently. We walk together in the grasses outside of the Louvre, our fingers interlaced with one another. "I'll be here with you every step of the way. Both with England and with…Tomas." There is a deep love in his eyes, but I can see his concealed pain from his part in ending Tomas's life. _He is staying strong for me. _A wave of relief and gratitude washes over me. _As soon as Olivia leaves court, it'll be just the two of us, _I realize. I consider mentioning her to him, but I decide against it. Now is not the time for my disdain towards her.

"I'm just worried," I confess. "Your father is so fixated on England that he's willing to marry us tonight because my claim to the throne is stronger than Elizabeth's." I don't want to admit it to Francis, but I'm terrified of Elizabeth. She is the most powerful woman in England—in all of _Europe. _The media is almost afraid to approach her; she scarcely appears in the papers and gossip magazines, but she possesses this unspoken power that honestly scares the shit out of me that goes beyond her lack of appearances in the mass media. I don't know if it's because of the new law that says the sons _and_ daughters of the king and queen of England can succeed their parents to the throne, or if it's something else entirely. I am the future queen of France and I must give Francis an heir, a son, after we are wed.

"My father didn't pose our marriage as a question," he says, "so I will. Do you want this?"

"I want you!" I squeeze his hand gently. _I want all of you. I want to be your wife and the mother to your children. I want us to be together. _

"This is our chance to be together, Mary, with nothing standing in our way," he goes on. My heart flutters and races in my chest. This is really happening. Tonight, I will be Francis's wife. Francis will be my husband.

"Even with Henri constantly pressuring me about England?" I mean to say it teasingly, but my fear creeps in.

"Oh, I'll pressure you," begins Francis, "and listen to you and argue with you…and love you until the day I die." He stops and faces me; I'm almost certain that I'm blushing. "Together, we'll decide what is right…as husband and wife." He sinks down onto one knee, reaching into his pocket and holding out a ring. _Oh my god. _This ring is not the first one he gave to me; it is an entirely different one. My heart stops in my chest. The diamond is a large ruby with a silver, intricate border spiraling into a Celtic pattern around it. "Mary Stuart, will you marry me?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" I exclaim, tears of joy streaking from my eyes. Francis slides the ring onto my finger before rising to his feet, pulling me into a kiss. He lifts me into his arms, twirling me around in his elation.

* * *

We sprint back to the castle and to our rooms, high on our excitement and lost in our love. Francis slam the door closed behind us before he kisses me again, unrelenting in his passion. He pulls my tank top off and over my head without hesitation, but not before he rids himself of his shirt. I rake his chest with my nails, mad for him and in my desire for him.

"Someone's feeling a little frisky," Francis manages. I smile as he tugs at my jeans, kissing my lower body as he lowers them. They fall to the floor and I step out of them. Francis takes in my form; I'm naked except for my undies. _My body is yours. Do what you like with it. _His mouth covers mine as we fall back onto the bed.

"I love you," I moan. "I love you so much." I reach down for my undies, trying to tug them off my body. In one swift motion, Francis slips them off me with two fingers. He is naked, save for his jeans. His smile is devious as he makes love to me with his eyes. I wonder what sort of fantasies are running through his mind right now. "Francis…Francis, please. I want…" Francis looms over me before he kisses me, pushing me hard into the mattress and grinding against me. He thrusts into me once, twice and I scream in ecstasy. My lust has reached fever pitch. I grab at Francis's jeans, pulling and tugging at them so he can enter me. He obliges, pulling them down and tossing them to the floor. I sigh and shudder as he drives himself into me, wrapping my arms around his shoulder blades and kissing his arm. Francis whispers words of love into my ear as he makes love to me, kissing every part of my body. He grips my thigh, sending sparks of electricity throughout my being. I don't even care that I'm sore from our lovemaking from last night; this is what I crave.

"Oh, Francis…_Francis_," I moan. "Please…_oh_!" I orgasm, a wave of pleasure and warmth spreading throughout my being. It is not as powerful as the previous orgasms Francis has given me, but it is still potent regardless. I tilt my head back, exposing the front of my neck. Francis takes the opportunity to kiss me there, sucking at my skin.

"Do you like that?" he taunts between kisses. "Feeling my mouth on your skin? On every…square…inch…on…your…exquisite…body?" I entangle my hands in his curls, whispering his name. He kisses me between my breasts, his hands firmly planted on my waist as I writhe under him. "Do you like…being completely at…my mercy?"

"Oh my god, Francis, _oh_…please, yes…_OH, OH, OH_!" Francis pushes and pulls at me and I try to match his rhythm, rocking back and forth on him. We scream in unison as we climax as one; he explodes inside of me as ecstasy floods me. I grab his face and kiss him ravenously; he rolls in three smooth motions and I'm now atop of him, riding him fiercer and harder than ever before. We cry out each other's name, utterly lost in our passion. Francis runs a hand down my breasts as we come together for one last time. I rest atop of him, my head on his shoulder. We are both exulted and breathless from our lovemaking. I'm almost certain that I'm going be sore for the entire month if we continue at this rate.

"I love you, Mary," Francis whispers.

"I love you too, Francis," I respond. I shake my head. "I still can't believe that we're getting married tonight. It's just…wow."

"I know it's sudden, but we'll be together," he assures me. "We have the wedding ceremony, the reception, and then the consummation. After that, it'll be just the two of us. I want you, Mary, and I want to be with you. I have no terms."

"I could honestly get used to this," I admit, chuckling. "Spending my nights with you and waking up with you at my side. I have no regrets about last night. Absolutely none. I'm glad you were my first." I plant a kiss on his lips. "My first and my only." I rub our noses together and intertwine our fingers.

"Starting tonight, we'll always have our nights together," promises Francis, "as husband and wife." He kisses me before he sits up. "Come with me. There's something I want to show you." He rises from the bed and dons his jeans. I admire his backside as he does so; his back is still marked by my fingernails from last night.

"What is it you're showing me?" I ask him, climbing from the bed. He approaches his bookshelf and runs a finger horizontally, looking for a specific title. I walk over to him, fully aware of his eyes on my still naked body. "Francis, what are you doing?"

"Promise me you won't freak out," he says.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I demand. "Francis, just show me whatever it is you're going to show me!"

"It is entirely your choice if you want to do this," he tells me. "I won't force you to do anything you don't want to." I stare at him in bewilderment.

"Just show me." As if on cue, Francis reaches for a red book and slightly pulls it out of the shelf. There is an audible _click _as the bookshelf becomes ajar, almost like a door. "What is this?" He holds the passageway door open for me, and I oblige, walking inside. The room is utterly dark until Francis switches the lights on. I step inside as he closes the door behind us.

"Oh my…oh god," I breathe. The room smells of leather and polish and wood and sensuality, a pleasant scent that only furthers my curiosity. Its walls are a deep and dark red, the color of passion. A large wooden cross in the shape of an X is attached to the wall that faces the door, with cuffs on each other. It appears to be made of well-published mahogany, but I'm not so certain. Directly above it is a vast iron grid hanging from the ceiling, and on it are multiple ropes and chains, amongst other shackles. I look to the side to see a massive chest of drawers. The chest is smooth and polished; I'm afraid to open it, but I already have an idea of what it contains. Vibrators? Floggers? Blindfolds? _What the hell is all of this? _

The bed is what captivates my attention almost immediately. It's much larger than the average king-size bed; there isn't any bedding, much to my surprise. Instead, it is just a mattress covered in red leather with crimson satin pillows piled at the foot of it. The bed looks like it is an ancient antique from the nineteenth century, maybe even earlier. I can see more chains and cuffs beneath the canopy. Fixed to the wall is what appears to be a rack of sorts, and it too has cuffs attached to it, hanging loosely. I slowly venture further into the room and I sit down on the bed. Francis sits by my side, his eyes meeting mine.

"So…you're into BDSM?" I ask, breaking the silence. "What is this? Your own personal…playroom?"

"I know it's a lot to take in, Mary," he tells me gently, taking my hands in his, "especially since we're going to be married within a matter of hours—but I promise you, I won't force you into this. I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. You don't have to try anything in this room if you don't want to. It's your choice and I will respect that, whatever choice you make."

"How…how did you even find out about the secret door behind your bookshelf?"

"I found it when I was younger. I was fooling around with the secret passageways here in the castle," explains Francis. "Before I turned into, well, this…I think it used to be some sort of hideout. It doesn't matter, Mary. What matters is how you feel."

"I can't, Francis," I tell him bluntly. "I'm not ready to try a dominant/submissive relationship. Not yet. Just the thought of being punished and being held at your mercy in this manner…god, it just brings back everything Tomas did to me." I shudder in revulsion and I hug myself, as if to shield myself from Tomas's ghost. "I'm not saying that I don't want you to make love to me anymore. I'm just not ready to take this step."

"That's perfectly okay, Mary," he says. "Take your time, as much as you need. I won't ever force you." I cradle his face in my hands and kiss him gently.

"Thank you."

* * *

"You almost ready, Mary?" Kenna calls out to me. "The carriage is waiting for you and besides, Notre Dame is waiting for you!"

"Hold on, Kenna!" I yell back. "Just let me check something!" I look at my reflection in the mirror, trying to see if anything is out of place. My wedding dress is simple yet majestic; the sleeves are laced in intricate patterns, and the back is engraved with a Celtic pattern, teasing my bare back. Dangling from my ears are silver earrings in the shape of diamonds and my hair is twisted into a French braid over my shoulder. I can't hear anything over the pounding of my own heart; the wedding is going to be televised live for all the world to see. The whole world will be watching as Francis and I exchange vows. I nod quickly to myself, taking a deep breath.

_You can do this, Mary. _

My ladies trail behind me as I slowly make my way down the aisle. Per my request, the symphony plays _The Power of Love_. I keep my steps slow and deliberate, although I desperately want to reach Francis so we can finally become husband and wife. _Breathe, Mary. Breathe. It's Francis you're marrying. _The symphony reverberates throughout the chapel and my heart swells as I realize that after tonight, Francis and I will be bound together for eternity. _This is what I've been waiting for my entire life. _

It seems like hours have passed when I finally reach the altar. Francis is beaming; when he finally sets his eyes upon me, his eyes shine with tears of joy. I'm hardly aware of what the priest is saying as we each sign our names on our marriage certificate. We're together now and nothing else matters except each other.

"You're beautiful," he whispers as we join hands. After a few more words from the minister, he begins to speak. "Mary," he says, "I don't know where to begin—how to begin. Those first days when you came back to court, I knew I was bewitched by you. You are a true queen. I love the way you laugh with your whole body. I love that little twinkle in your eye when you smile and I love how completely fierce you are. The world sees a fierce and powerful queen, but I have never known someone with such gentle grace and more pure heart. Today, I pledge myself to you…not just for today or tomorrow, but forever. I love you, Mary Stuart." His voice breaks as tears slide from his eyes. My vision is blurred by tears as well. I clear my throat before I begin.

"I've never really believed in love at first sight," I say, "but I remember when I saw you on that very first day back at court…I was in love with you, then, but I was afraid to admit it. I loved you then, Francis, and I'm so painfully and madly in love with you now. You've always been there for me, protecting me and watching out for me, even when I didn't realize it. You're my home, my best friend, and my one true love. I love you, Francis, always and forever." We both reach for the rings, and one after another, we recite the minister's words as we slide them onto each other's fingers.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, take and wear this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness," Francis declaims, slipping the golden band next to my ruby engagement ring.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, take and wear this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness," I recite, and I place the ring upon Francis's finger.

"By the power invested in me by God, I now pronounce Francois de Valois and Marie de Stuart husband and wife, Dauphin and Dauphine of Viennois!" the minister booms. The congregation bursts into applause as my husband kisses me deeply. I wrap my arms around him, returning his passionate embrace, laughing through my tears of happiness.

"I love you, Francis," I whisper into his ear.

"I love you too, Mary," he murmurs. "God, I love you so much."


	13. Consummation

The orchestral fanfare blares the first notes of The GooGoo Dolls' _Come to Me _as Francis and I enter the reception hall, showered in feathers and roses and greeted with applause. My husband leads me out to the center of the dance floor and I twirl into his arms; he rocks me slowly, his lips nipping at my neck teasingly.

"I can't wait until tonight, wife," Francis whispers tantalizingly. His hand slides around my waist and I tilt my head towards him. I can feel the hardness of his cock against me as I press my body against his. "I can't wait to make you mine." My husband spins me out of his arms and when I return to him, I immediately lock my arms around his neck.

"I'm already yours, husband," I say. I rest my head on his shoulder as we sway to the music, our fingers interweaved with one another. _I am Francis's wife now. We're married; holy shit. _

"_Come to me my sweetest friend_," he sings softly into my ear. "_Can you feel my heart again? I'll take you back where you belong and this will be our favorite song._" Francis's voice is like silk as it caresses me. "_Come to me with secrets bare; I'll love you more so don't be scared. When we're old and near the end, we'll go home and start again_." I meet his eyes and I kiss him deeply. The rest of the world is nonexistent; we are together now—we're married—and nothing else matters.

"I'm glad to see that you're happy, daughter." I jump out of my skin as my husband and I end our dance. I turn around and my heart leaps into my throat; tears of joy sting in my eyes as my mother envelops me in her arms.

"Mother!" I exclaim. "Oh my god, I've missed you so much. What—how…what are you doing here?"

"How could I have missed my own daughter's wedding day?" We pull apart so we can wipe our tears. "I didn't want to tell you I was coming because I wanted to surprise you," she explains. She smiles warmly, holding her hand out for Francis. "I'm Marie de Guise, your official mother-in-law."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he tells her, shaking her hand. "I've never been happier nor more fortunate to be blessed with such a wife." I plant a kiss on his cheek at his words, and we beam at one another. Francis slides a hand around my waist, kissing my forehead. "I promise that I'll take good care of your daughter, Marie."

"Thank you, Francis," my mother says. She chuckles. "I wonder when I'll be a grandmother."

"Mother!" I gasp.

"I'm just kidding, Mary," she laughs. "I'm sure we don't have anything to worry about." For a moment, I wonder if she'll be staying for the consummation. _Oh god. _The thought of my mother watching Francis and I consummate our marriage fills me with horror and dread and mortification. I realize that the bedding ceremony has always been a royal tradition, but there are some things I would much rather my mother didn't see. "Francis, may I speak with my daughter alone for a moment?"

"Of course." My husband kisses me before he takes his leave of us. Mother grabs me by the arm and hastily pulls me aside as soon as he is out of sight. _What the hell? _

"Mother, what are you doing?" I demand. The orchestra bursts into the first notes of Nightwish's _Alpenglow_, the strings and the violins singing as one voice.

"Mary, there's something you must know," she explains quickly. "It's about Scotland."

"Scotland?" My eyes widen in shock. "What about Scotland? Is everything alright? You've been ruling in my stead for all of my eighteen years!"

"Exactly, Mary. The people have started to undermine my authority; they want their queen to come home," she goes on. "Scotland needs her queen. I've been your regent from the moment you came forth from my womb—but you're a woman grown and a queen."

"Mother, I can't leave France and you know that!" I protest. "I am the future queen of France and my husband is the future king." I meet her stare. "Do not forget that, Mother. You gave me to the French, remember?" My voice is hard and resolute as I speak.

"Your brother is grabbing for the crown even as we speak, Mary," Mother hisses. "I'm doing what I can to stall him, but James is relentless."

"And what are you?" I retort. "You're the queen _regent_, Mother. Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I have more power than you. Now get the hell out and leave France. When the day comes that I return to Scotland, it is because you have failed…or because you are dead." My mother's eyes are ice cold as she glares at me. Without another word, she storms off. I scan the crowd, looking for Francis. I see him conversing with Bash and Kenna, laughing and talking with them, and I decide to leave them be for the time being. Somewhere along the line, I find Olivia. She scowls at me for a moment before pacing up towards me angrily.

"If you're here to argue about Francis, forget it," I say lightly. "We're married now; he loves me and I love him."

"Give me a fucking break, Mary!" Olivia snaps. "Just yesterday, he told me that he was sending me away to some chateau! This is bullshit! I thought he loved me!" She laughs humorlessly. "You know, I tried to reach out to him after I heard about what happened with Tomas—but he wouldn't have it. I tried taking his mind off the trauma, but I guess you have your claws in him way too deep."

_She tried to take advantage of my husband's pain so she could seduce him. _Rage and loathing come over me in a rush, my blood boiling. "You. Selfish. _Bitch_," I growl. "You knew what Francis has been through, but all you can think of is being in his bed again. If you ever truly loved him, you would put his feelings above yours. You never loved Francis, Olivia. I don't presume to know what happened between you two before I returned to court, but I do know that he wants nothing to do with you, as do I. You will never become his mistress. There is nothing here for you, so do yourself a favor and just go to your new estate. In time, Francis will find a suitable husband for you and we will all be happy."

"Francis never loved me the way he loves you, Mary," she says bitterly and shakes her head. "I…excuse me." She shoves right past me just as Francis approaches.

"What was that?" my husband questions me, gathering me into his arms. "Was Olivia pestering you about us?"

"More or less, yeah," I answer. "Don't worry about it, Francis. She won't be bothering us anymore." My husband kisses me gently, tilting my face upwards to meet his lips.

"_You are my path my home my star, a beautiful tale within the tale_," he sings quietly, "_and when the dust needs to move on, I will tuck us in on a bed of snow painting white, silencing the valley we built. Together we'll sleep, devoured by Life_." The orchestra plays on and I close my eyes, letting the music carry me where it may. My husband continues to sing to me as the song closes itself.

"_We were here, roaming on the endless prairie, writing an endless story, building a Walden of our own…we were here, grieving the saddened faces, conquering the darkest places. Time to rest now and finish the show and become the Music, one with alpenglow…_" I hold his face in my hands, passionately kissing him just as the orchestra rings out the final notes of the song, tears streaming down my face. The kiss lasts for several long moments before we finally break apart; the music has stopped completely, which is all we need to know. It is time for the consummation.

* * *

My heart is pounding in my chest as the servants help me out of my wedding dress and into my consummation robes. They dab the makeup off my face and pull out my French braid, letting it tumble down my shoulders and my back, before dabbing at my sex. I have chosen to wear nothing underneath my robes, although a part of me suspects that it is required in order to make sure that our marriage is consummated in full.

I am led to the consummation chambers, where the bed is being blessed by the Vatican. Francis is waiting for me, his eyes filled with love and wanting. _I wonder how he feels about this custom. _I approach him slowly, my hands shaking. I can feel Catherine and Henri's eyes on us; my ladies are visibly uncomfortable, struggling to hide their awkwardness. The Vatican watches us expectantly, and my heart only accelerates.

"Shhh, Mary. Mary," my husband whispers, taking my face in his hands. "It's alright. Don't pay attention to them. It's just you and me, okay?" I nod, breathing deeply. Slowly, Francis presses his lips against mine. I instantly respond to his kiss; my desire for him makes it difficult for me to remember that we are in fact being watched by the king, the queen, my ladies and the Vatican as we fall back upon the bed. Francis is gentle in his lovemaking, almost teasing. I can't help but wonder where he'll take me for our honeymoon. The room is filled with our gasps and sighs of pleasure; Francis thrusts into me repeatedly as he kisses my neck and my cheek. I'm unable to stifle my screams as several orgasms pulse relentlessly throughout me, one right after another.

"May the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit bless this union as Marie de Stuart and Francois de Valois become one body, one heart, and one soul…and may he be cursed who would dare come between them."


	14. Prophecy

The sights and the sounds of Hawaii overwhelm me as Francis and I climb out of the boat. Dawn is breaking, the sun setting and the sun bathes us in its warmth. The smell of seafood and salt and humidity gives me a sense of tranquility as the wind gives us a warm, soothing kiss. At the end of the dock is a large house; it has several large windows on each side of it, letting the sun pour through inside. I'm surprised; for such a small island, it is a rather large house. _A private villa just for us. _

I let out a squeal as Francis sweeps up into his arms, carrying me bridal style as he walks us inside. He sets me down and I gasp; there is a trail of rose petals from the door, leading to another room. My heart swells and I can't help myself as I take my husband by the hands, pulling him along with me as I follow the path. "Come on, Francis! Come!" My husband smiles as I eagerly follow the rose petals, chuckling to himself. I already know where they will take us and I am more than eager for what awaits when we get there.

I swing the door open and Francis pulls me to him, kissing me. I return the kiss, running my hands down his chest. I kick off my shoes as I tug at my husband's clothes, gently biting and pulling his lip. "God, I want you so bad," I whisper. "_Husband._"

"Patience, wife," Francis commands, not ungently. "You're mine now, remember?" He reaches for the straps of my dress, pulling them down my shoulders. My dress falls to the floor, baring my naked body for him. My husband is taking his time with me, I know; he is tantalizing me before he finally makes love to me. He pulls his shirt off and over his head before he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bed, pressing our bodies together as our lips collide in a heated frenzy.

"I love you, Francis," I moan. He pins my wrists above my head as he leaves a river of kisses down my body, starting at my cheek and gradually making his way down. His lips kiss and suck on my skin, his teeth biting at me.

"You're so…so beautiful," he whispers between kisses. "So…beautiful." I gasp as he kneads a knuckle against my clit, hard but slowly. I cry out as I orgasm; the pleasure is terribly short and ends as quickly as it comes. My husband rids himself of the remnants of his clothes; I open my legs for him invitingly and he obliges, thrusting himself into me. Without hesitation, I kiss him, cradling his face as we become on flesh. The sensation of his warm skin on mine in the coolness of the room sends shivers down my spine. I run a hand up and over his shoulder blade and into his hair, sighing his name as he pulls at me relentlessly.

"Mmm…Francis," I moan. "_Francis_…" His lips find my neck again, nipping playfully at and licking my skin. I arch my back against him, whimpering. I want more. I _need _more of him, although I know I will never be fully satiated. My husband shoves his tongue into my mouth insistently, pushing me further onto the mattress. I push upward against, my breasts grazing his chest, before falling back onto the bed. His knuckle gently touches my thigh before reaching my cheek and slithering through my hair.

"Mary…Mary," Francis rasps. I grind my hips against his as he cups the back of my head, pulling me back along him, sinking me down onto his lap. I lift up slightly before slowly grinding back down onto my haunches; he meets my thrust, moaning before closing the distance between our mouths. His hand flattens across my bare back, pressing me against him as I ride him vigorously. My husband meets my own thrusts with his, pushing and pulling. Back and forth. Push and pull. Harder. Faster. He splays his hand across my breast, massaging gently, and I throw my head back and arch my back, pressing into his palm.

"Francis…oh my god, Francis, yes!" I gasp. "More…more—oh! _Oh_!" My center throbs painfully as Francis silences me with a kiss. I roll my hips, building more and more friction between us.

"Oh my god, Mary," my husband pants. "Mary…_fuck_!"

"You're mine now," I croon. "You're all mine." I tilt my head to the side, seeking out the warmth and wetness of his tongue. "Oh my…_ohhh_. Francis, Francis, _Francis_!" Francis grabs a fistful of my hair, gathering me to him as he kisses the pulse points on my throat. He releases my hair before putting a hand to the small of my back, our eyes finding each other. I take his hand and gently kiss his fingers; his lusty eyes watch me as he brushes my hair off my neck.

"Mary," he whispers. I love the way he says my name; it sounds almost as if it were a word in another language, beautiful and ancient and eternal…almost like a prayer. "Oh, Mary, Mary…_je t'aime._"

"I love you too," I murmur. "Oh, Francis…" I cup his cheeks with my palms, tilting my mouth down to meet his lips. We rock one another, crying out for one another as we fan the flames of our passion. I hide my face in the curve of his neck, gasping in time with his punctuated movements, holding onto his shoulders for balance. I whimper and moan, waves of pleasure crashing over me again and again. I'm overwhelmed by the fire in my core, stoked and kindled by our lovemaking.

"Oh, come to me…come to me," my husband breathes into my ear. "Come to me, wife." He nibbles at my earlobe, teasing me, before covering my mouth in his. I fall back upon the bed, Francis's weight pressing against me, not once breaking our kiss. He hooks one hand underneath my knee, pulling it up until the top of my thigh reaches my chest, as he pushes me to my limits. His hands fall on the mattress on both sides of my head, gently stroking my hair—a stark contrast to his hard thrusts inside me. In and out. Push and pull. Pull and push. I scream in my ecstasy; the tension in my body releases itself and rebuilds itself over and over again until Francis suddenly stops mid-thrust just as I am about to climax.

"Ah-ah-ah!" he chides playfully. "If you want to come, you're going to have to beg for it." He smiles cunningly at me before planting a small kiss on my lips. "Do you feel that?" he asks me. "That is your body begging for me, begging for me to let you come." I exhale shakily, overcome by our rapture.

"Not fair!" I grunt. "Francis…" I wind one hand into his hair and another around his shoulder blades as he leans forward to kiss me, pressing down against me.

"You're going to have to say it, wife," he purrs. "Say it." Sensing my stubbornness, Francis slowly begins to kiss my neck. I sigh his name as he slowly pulls himself out of me, but not entirely. My body is still locked and tense from my lack of release. Francis continues to tease me, continually bringing me close to orgasm but denying me my pleasure. Before I know it, I'm begging for release.

"Please, please, please…oh my god. Oh, Francis!" I pant. "Oh my…oh my god, please! Oh, oh, oh, _OHHH_!" My orgasm surges throughout my being, eliciting a scream. I arch my back above the bed, crying out for my husband, as he proceeds to plant hot kisses down my chest. He buries his face between my legs, seeking out my center. His tongue teases and massages my sweet spot mercilessly; the sensation is overwhelming. This is not the first time Francis has loved me with his mouth; every single nerve in my body comes alive. I bring a hand above my head onto the soft pillows, sighing my husband's name. My breath comes heavy and thick; Francis shows no signs of relenting in his loving of me. I come to him over and over again; his tongue licks at my clit as it rubs against me. He releases my thighs and secures my writhing hips to the mattress with both of his hands. My head is spinning from the intensity of each of my orgasms and the endlessness of my husband's passion.

I feel like I'm about to go crazy from the sensations. I'm not sure how long it's been, but it feels like hours have passed. I entangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him up towards my lips. Francis gives me the kiss I've been waiting for, filling me with himself. "Francis," I moan.

"More?" he asks, breathless.

"_Yes._"

* * *

"Your kisses are more easily attained than your words," says Francis. We lay together in each other's arms, our limbs entangled and the sheet twisted about us. Our bodies are drenched in sweat from our night of lovemaking. "What are you thinking about, Mary?"

I lift my head up to meet his soft gaze. "I'm just so happy to be your wife," I tell him. "I'm happy to be here…with you." I stroke his cheek gently. "You know that I love you, Francis. I would do anything for you. I love _you_. I want _you_. I am married to _you_, and I want us to have a family together. I want to fill the Louvre with little royals of our own and to hear their laughter in the halls." I chuckle. "Would our son would have your curls? Or have your eyes? Or would he be a blend of us both?"

"I would love to have a little James…or perhaps a little Anne, or both," he agrees. "So they could keep each other busy while we're busy with other things." He kisses me and we make love again, spending our days and nights in each other's arms like branches growing together. We spend some days bathing in the warmth of the sun, strolling the beaches and enjoying the sights and the foods. On other days, we simply lay on the beach and watch as the sun sets on the horizon.

* * *

"I love you, Mary," my husband says, holding me in his arms. He massages my back and tenderly strokes my hair; his touch soothes me as my pulse and my breathing slow from our passionate lovemaking.

"I love you too, Francis." I sigh. "Can't we just stay here forever? I don't want to go back to court." It's been four months since our wedding—and such blissful months they've been. "I've been so happy here with you—I've never been happier than in these moments with you."

"I know," Francis agrees. "I just want to stay in this bed with you. I love the quiet and the stillness, you know? There is nothing to worry about: no politics, no lies, no pressures…nothing. Nothing to think about except each other." We are not the future king and queen in these moments, but we are a man and a woman—husband and wife. "Just you and me."

I plant a kiss on his lips, unable to resist. "Make love to me," I say quietly.

And he does.

* * *

"You're very quiet," says Francis. We're in a limo, on our way from the airport and back to the Louvre. The streets and sights of France pass us by through the windows.

"It's such a queer feeling," I say, "to come back after being gone for so long. I wonder if anything's changed in our absence." My husband takes my hand in his and smiles reassuringly at me.

"I'm certain everything's fine, Mary," he tells me. "I don't think court has burned down, metaphorically speaking." He chuckles, gently squeezing my hand. "Everyone's going to pester us about our honeymoon, I'm sure."

"Our honeymoon and when we're going to have kids," I sigh. "Has it really been that long? It's only been a few months since we got married."

"To them, it might seem that way," admits Francis, "but we have all the time in the world to think about kids." He slowly touches my face, smiling softly at me. "We're married now, Mary. I couldn't be happier." I scoot closer to him, bringing my lips to his. "I love you."

"I love you too." My husband wraps an arm around me and I rest my head on his shoulder. The limo finally pulls up in front of the castle and we disengage, climbing out of the car.

"Home sweet home," I muse.

We're welcomed with applause and showered in rose petals as we walk into the castle. I'm immediately embraced by my ladies, and Francis by his mother and Bash.

"I'm so glad you're back, Mary!" Kenna exclaims. "We've missed you—and let me tell you, you've missed a _lot_."

"I missed you too," I say. "What have I missed?"

"Well…for starters…" She pauses, flashing a ring on her finger. "Bash and I are engaged! We met at your wedding and started talking—and the rest is pretty self-explanatory!"

"Congratulations!" I exclaim. "I'm so happy for you!" I turn to Lola, Greer and Aylee. "What else have I missed? I don't think there have been any major political developments…have there?"

"Mary, you just got back from your honeymoon," says Greer. "You really don't need to worry about politics right now. But…I met someone while you were away. His name is Leith Bayard and he is such a gentleman. We've only been going out for a few weeks. My dad's been pressing me about finding a rich man to marry, but I really don't want to worry about that."

"Wealth isn't everything, you know," I tell her.

"Oh, I know," she replies. "I'm just trying to live my life to the fullest. But enough about that! How was your honeymoon with Francis? Where did you guys go?'

"We went to Hawaii. Well, Honolulu to be more specific," I begin. "It was so beautiful—and we stayed at a private cottage reserved just for us. It was honestly the best four months of my life."

"Let's give the newlyweds some space!" Catherine booms. "You'll have plenty of time to catch up with them later!" She grabs me by the wrist and I whirl, alarmed. "Mary, can you come with me? I need to speak with you."

I nod, utterly perplexed by her abrupt change in demeanor. What the hell is going on with her? She is tense and her eyes are somber; something is wrong and I know it. Without another word, she drags me to her chambers, closing the door behind her.

"Catherine, what is this about?" I ask.

"Do you take me to be a foolish woman, Mary?" She turns to face me, expecting my answer.

"No," I answer. "Can you tell me what the hell is going on?"

"I know you love my son," she begins, "and I know that he loves you—and love is a powerful thing. I've seen the way you two look at one another. From the moment you came back to court, I've been wary of you because I know what it is you'll bring to Francis. Death."

"Excuse me?"

"Nostradamus had a vision, Mary," Catherine tells me solemnly, "of Francis's death. That fate was sealed when you married him four months ago."

"This is madness!" _So this is what she's been so afraid of. _It can't be true. It's not possible. My heart races; my palms are wet with sweat. I can't have sent Francis to his doom by marrying him. I don't believe in prophecies or superstition.

"Henri would call it worse," she says. "I would have been executed for treason if I did anything to interfere in your marriage, so I was forced to stand by as you married Francis. Nostradamus has seen the future if you wed my son, and it is very dark. It's too late now, though, Mary. You've married Francis. If you want to save him, do right by him and walk away from this marriage."

"A man that I love," I say bitterly, "and an alliance that my country needs. Do you even know what it is you're asking of me, Catherine?"

"Go back to Scotland, Mary," Catherine says brusquely. "If you love my son, you'll do this—not for me, but for him. This isn't the first vision Nostradamus has had that portends to death in my family. Not too long after he told me of what he saw of Francis, he told me that Henri would die as well. Brutally murdered in his sleep...the sheets soaked with his blood. When, he could not say but all I know is that these gruesome visions started right when you came back here."

"I don't have to listen to this." I turn to leave; just as I reach for the doorknob, Catherine presses her palm against the door, intercepting me.

"Be sure to ask Nostradamus about what he's seen, Mary. I would be _very _sure. He's right more often than he's wrong."


	15. Departure

None of this can be true. I refuse to believe it; I _can't. _I won't. I can't be the cause of Francis's death. How can it be possible? I have never believed in prophecies or fate…but can I take the risk of him being wrong? Can I risk losing the man I love? I shake my head furiously as I storm out of Catherine's apartments.

_ He's right more often than he's wrong, _she had told me. Every part of me wants to believe that she is bluffing, but I know that she would never lie to me if Francis's life was at stake. She would never use her son's life as a means to get me to leave France. If anything, she loves Francis just as much as I do. My hands are shaking uncontrollably and I can feel the oxygen leaving my lungs. I try to take deep breaths as I hurriedly pace to Nostradamus's rooms; I need to appear strong, like I'm not falling apart on the inside and being consumed by anxiety. It seems as though my feet can't carry me fast enough, and when I finally do make it, I don't even bother to knock.

"What did you see of my husband?" I demand. Nostradamus looks up from his studies; his expression falls as he realizes the reasons behind my coming.

"Catherine told you of what I saw," he says gravely. I approach his desk, breathing deeply. "I was beginning to wonder when she would tell you."

"What. Did. You. See?" I repeat. "Tell me. Catherine said that you saw his death brought about by me upon our marriage." A part of me doesn't want to hear it, but I know I have to. It's_ Francis. _

"The manner of his death is uncertain," Nostradamus begins. "It changes from an assassination to being murdered by Henri to an accident…it changes with each vision, but it's all the same. All visions of Francis's death are tied to your union. There is no precise telling when his death will come to pass, but in all of my visions, he will die a year into your marriage. You will be wed, but childless. You will blame yourself most of all, and you won't have a friend to comfort you."

"_Stop_!" I cry, tears streaking down my cheeks. "You're cruel!"

"Do you think I want to tell a mother that her son will die?" he retorts. "Do you think I want to tell a wife that she will lose her husband? Mary, I take no pleasure in my visions. I'm plagued by visions of death every day. I've seen the death of Francis, I've seen the death of the king!"

"Is there any way for me to save my husband? By any other means than letting him go?" I ask him, hastily wiping my tears away.

"No. Francis will die—and if you want to save him, you must let him go. I'm sorry, Mary." I nod tersely.

"Thank you for your time, Nostradamus," I say quickly. I turn on my heel and leave, closing the door behind me. I keep my head down as I half-walk, half-run to my and Francis's chambers. I can't stay here in France anymore. Catherine was right. If I stay, Francis will die but if I leave, he'll live and the prophecy won't come to fruition. I know what I must do and I have to do it…

No matter how much it breaks my heart.

* * *

_It's best that you don't say any goodbyes, _I remind myself. I know that if I see Francis, my resolve will waver and I won't be able to bring myself to leave. My ladies…I don't know what they would do. Would they support me in my decision? Or would they try to dissuade me from going? I know how wrong this is of me; I am the future queen of France, but I can't stay if it means my staying would result in Francis's death.

I quickly tie my hair up in a ponytail and don a black leather jacket before I make my way outside to the entrance. I keep my pace calm and slow, as if nothing is amiss, while every single nerve in my body screams at me to get out as quickly as I can. _Goodbye, Francis. I love you and I am so sorry. _Once I'm outside, I climb upon a motorcycle that must've been lost by a tourist. I rev it up once, twice, before I turn around and speed away from the Louvre. I don't dare to look back. My vision is blurred with tears as I feel the Louvre becoming smaller and smaller. Francis and I, have we really had our last conversation? Our last kiss? Was that one last night in Honolulu the last time he would make love to me?

The hours pass as if in a dream. I look over my shoulder; nobody's following me, but I am certain that Francis has already noticed by absence and is trying to find me. I slam my foot on the gas pedal. _Just get to the airport and catch the first flight to Scotland, _I tell myself. _Don't let anyone or anything stop you. _My cell phone vibrates in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts. I shake my head stubbornly, pressing on. I know it's Francis—it has to be. I let my phone go off, but then it vibrates again. I find myself pulling over on the side of the highway, slamming on the brakes, and I take my iPhone out of my pocket.

"Where are you, Mary?" Francis demands. "I've been worried sick about you!"

"I have to get out of France, Francis," I tell him. "I don't expect you to understand, but it's for the best."

"What is going on?" he asks. "Why did you leave? Where are you?"

"I can't tell you that. I'm sorry," I say, "but I'm doing this for you. I love you, Francis." My voice breaks and I can feel hot tears running down my cheeks.

"Mary, _please. _Come home," my husband pleads. "Come back to me."

"I can't," I whisper. "I love you."

"Mary, Mary, please—" I cut the connection, choking on a ragged sob. My chest throbs painfully, and I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to quiet my sobs. I can't breathe, it hurts so much. I want to be with Francis, but I know I can't if it means saving his life. _You will blame yourself most of all, _Nostradamus had told me. What role I would play in my husband's death, I don't know and I don't intend to find out. I wipe the tears off my face before pressing onwards.

It isn't long until I can hear the sirens wailing behind me. _They're looking for me, _I realize. _Francis must have the cops and dozens of the castle guards out searching for me. _I look over my shoulder to see several police cars weaving through the traffic. Shit, shit, shit! I can hear one of their radios, reporting the situation.

"I have a visual on Queen Mary," one of the cops says. "I'm going to see if I can stop her. _Do not use force. Do not open fire. _We are acting on Prince Francis's orders, remember." I press harder on the gas pedal. I have to get out of their range. _How much farther is it until I reach the airport? _I snake through the traffic, but in my peripheral vision, I can see the cops closing in on me. I accelerate on the gas, despair and fear rising within me. I can't go back to court. I can't go back to Francis, no matter how much I want to.

"Your Majesty, _stop_ running!" another officer booms. "Just give it up!" I ignore him, but then he brandishes a gun. He points it directly at me, pulling the trigger. I cry out as a fiery pain shoots through my shoulder; I tumble from my motorcycle and crash down upon the pavement, clutching my bleeding shoulder.

"_You fucking shot me_!" I exclaim, outraged. "Why…why couldn't you just let me go?"

"Prince Francis's orders," he tells me bluntly, hauling me to my feet. "Come on. We'll patch you up on the way back to the palace."

* * *

I watch wordlessly as Francis rebukes the man who shot me before thanking the other officers for their efforts in bringing me back. My shoulder is wrapped in a bandage after having the bullets pulled out and my wound washed in alcohol to prevent infection. Silently, Francis slides his arm around my waist as we walk into the castle.

"Are you…are you alright?" he asks me. There is genuine concern in his words, just as there is anger and confusion.

"I'm fine," I answer. "My shoulder's a little sore, but it's nothing I can't handle." My husband nods; the silence between us weighs like two coins on a scale. Only one of us can break it. When we finally make it to our rooms, he closes the door behind us.

"I suppose you wondered if you'd ever see me again," says Francis. I nod silently, for I had believed that we would never see each other again once I'd left for Scotland. "I knew I'd see you. If I hadn't found you…if the cops didn't…" He breaks off his words, unable to continue. "I would have gone straight to Scotland."

_You know me all too well, Francis. _"Francis, please…don't. Nothing has changed."

"Mary, why did you run?" he demands. "We've only just returned from our honeymoon! I swore myself to you on the day of our wedding—and months later, you run off without any pretense."

"Nostradamus had a vision," I tell him, "of your death brought about by me if we wed. We're married now, Francis! I couldn't risk it! I couldn't risk losing you! I know it sounds ridiculous; I didn't believe it at first—hell, I still don't believe it—but I wasn't about to take any chances. I couldn't bear the thought of…of losing you." My husband stares at me incredulously for several long moments before speaking.

"You left me over a prophecy?" he repeats, drawing towards me. His face softens as he takes my hands in his. "Mary, you cannot let superstition or fear rule your life," he says gently. "You must be the ruler you were born to be, taking charge of your own destiny."

"If I stay, you'll die."

"It's my life, Mary," my husband says resolutely. "It's my risk. I know you're scared…about England and about this future that Nostradamus predicted for me, but none of his visions have come to pass. The future isn't set in stone." He cradles my face in his hands, making me meet his eyes. "I love you, Mary. Don't let Nostradamus poison you with fear." I find myself nodding silently. I want to believe him. I want to believe that our marriage won't lead to his death. And for a moment, I let myself believe it. Francis kisses my forehead softly before he embraces me. I inhale his scent, clinging to him. He smells like cologne and leather and sex…like home. I look up towards him, wrapping my arms around him, before I kiss him.

Francis kisses me back, slowly and passionately, consuming me. I'm unable to stop myself from kissing him back as he takes us to our bed. He makes love to me, whispering his love for me in my ear, as we explore the constellations of each other's bodies. There is no roughness in our lovemaking, no furious and wild passion. He holds me in his arms afterwards, the sheet twisted about us.

"You're sure I'm worried over nothing?" I ask him, breaking the silence. "It's just…when Nostradamus told me that I would be the cause of your death, I wasn't sure what to do. Leaving seemed like the only choice. I still don't know what to make of the prophecy, but…" I sigh. "I love you too much to just stand by and lose you."

"Nostradamus has a reputation for scaring people with his visions, Mary," he tells me. "This is no different. You are thankfully, mercifully and blessedly my wife. Don't let some vision of the future question our marriage. _I love you._"

"I love you too, Francis." I kiss him gently before climbing off the bed. Francis's eyes devour me as I head over to the bookshelf. I trace each title with my finger before I finally find it. I pull the lever, opening the secret door to Francis's red room. My heart skips a beat; I can't believe I'm really doing this…but I'm ready.

"Are you sure about this, Mary?" my husband asks, approaching me. He has donned his jeans, but his chest is still bared. "You don't have to because you feel obligated to." He cups my face in his hands, our eyes finding one another. "BDSM is not about satisfying the desires of another out of duty, Mary," he says quietly. "It's about trust. Are you sure you're ready? I told you that I would never force you to do this."

I nod. "I'm sure, Francis," I say. "During our honeymoon, I gave it a lot of thought. I trust you completely. I know you would never do anything to hurt me—and I'm ready to take my life back from Tomas. Francis, he almost destroyed me. He almost destroyed us both. I know you think I'm doing this because I know you want it, but I'm not. I want it, too, Francis. I love it when you make love to me. I love it when we spend entire nights in each other's arms…but this is more than just making love. You said that BDSM is about trust. I love you and I trust you." I kiss him on the cheek before leading him into the room, closing the door behind us.

"Do you know your safewords, Mary?" my husband questions. "I'll need to know when you need me to stop or if I'm pushing you beyond your boundaries."

"_Red _is to stop what we're doing completely," I recite, "and _yellow _is to slow things down or stop what _you're _doing, without stopping entirely." I can't help but chuckle at his surprised expression. "Francis, I've done my homework on BDSM. I know what I'm getting myself into."

"Do you want to try anything out right now?"

I loop my arms around him. "I would love to," I purr in his ear.

* * *

I lie back on the bed as Francis ties my wrists and ankles to the bedposts. His knots are secure, but loose enough as to not cut off my circulation, and he leaves a good length of rope loose, giving me the freedom to move my arms and legs. My heart is racing in my chest. I take several deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves. _Francis isn't Tomas, Mary. You're freaking out over nothing. Safewords, Mary. Just remember your safewords. _

"Are you doing okay, Mary?" asks Francis.

"I'm fine," I answer. "Just a bit nervous, I suppose." He walks over towards me and kneels, lacing our fingers together and squeezing gently.

"Tell me if this becomes too much or if you want me to slow down," he reminds me. "Remember your safewords. This isn't about me and what I want. It's about you and what _you _want. I know we agreed that in here, I'm your Dom and you're my Sub—but you're in control." I nod silently; he brings his lips to mine in a reassuring kiss before rising. I watch as he goes towards the drawer. _What is he getting? _I wonder. I know he has no shortage of supply of BDSM toys. He comes back, a blindfold in hand. As he puts it over my eyes, tying it around the back of my head, I seek out the direction of his voice as he speaks.

"You may not be able to see me right now, Mary," he explains, "but you will be able to feel me and hear my voice. Focus on me. Don't worry about anything else. I have to warn you, though: there will be pain…pain _and _pleasure, but I promise you, I will never hurt you. Remember, you're in control. Remember your safewords."

"Yellow and red," I declare.

"Good." Francis's fingers trace lightly over my body. It's like my senses have been magnified; all of my nerve points seem to be centered on his touch. His hand strokes my thigh before tracing small circles on my breast before ceasing. His footsteps come up right past me and I know he's gone to get something. _What is he getting? _I wonder. _A flogger? A crop? A vibrator? Who the hell knows? _

It is only moments later that I feel something soft and feathery brushing against my skin. _A flogger. _It runs down my body, from the hollow of my neck to the middle of my breasts, teasing me of what's to come. I gasp as it finds my sex, lingering there for a few moments before trailing back up my body. It suddenly comes crashing down upon my body, cracking in the air. I cry out, arching my back and holding onto the ropes, though not entirely in pain. The sensation thrills me and scares me; it stings briefly, but not enough to seriously hurt me. It passes just as quickly as it had come. _There will be pain…pain _and _pleasure. _Francis's words from earlier echo in my mind.

"How does that feel, Mary?" questions my husband.

"It feels…good," I answer. I can't help but laugh a little. "Definitely good. Would you do it again?" I get my answer as I receive another lash; this time, the blow is harder than the first, but not too much. "Is this all we're going to do? Or is there more?" I find myself asking.

"Don't be impatient," he answers. "There is so much more, you have no idea." The bed sinks slightly with his weight as he climbs upon it. I don't need to see to know that he is on all fours above me. He kisses me, his lips barely brushing against mine. I find myself straining against my bonds as I attempt to reach for him. Francis chuckles softly as he plants hot kisses down my body, slowly. Tantalizingly. I am entirely at his mercy, I realize. I am his completely.

"Oh my god, Francis," I breathe. "Francis…"

"Do you feel this, Mary?" he questions between kisses. "Do you feel me? This…no other woman will ever know what it feels like to be kissed by me. To be ravished by me…to be worshipped by me. To be teased until they're begging to come. To feel…this." His tongue lazily laps against my clit, teasing me and taunting me.

"Oh, _ohhh, _Francis! Oh my god, oh fuck, _OHHH_!" Wetness gathers between my legs as I orgasm; I tighten my grip on the ropes, bracing myself. "Fuck! Francis, oh my…oh yes, yes…that feels good. Oh yes, oh, _oh_!" Another orgasm surges through me just as I feel my husband entering me. I sigh his name, only to be silenced with a kiss.

"I love you," my husband says. He removes the blindfold, tossing it to the floor. Breathless, I meet his gaze. "How're you doing? Are you hanging in there?"

"I'm doing fine. Trust me, I'm okay," I tell him. "Shut up and kiss me." Francis kisses me possessively, consuming me. He unties my wrists, allowing me to reach for him. I hold his face, rocking against him, slowly building a tempo between us. I gasp and shudder as his knuckle rubs against my clit, hard and slow; a moan catches in my throat and I let my head fall back on the pillows, closing my eyes as I lose myself_. _I've lost count of how many times he's teased me to ecstasy with his mouth or his hands during lovemaking. _My husband, my lover, my Dom, my king…my Francis_.

Francis cups the curve of my ass with his hand before bringing both to either sides of my head, holding it tenderly in his hands as he makes love to me. I run my fingers from his curls down to his cheeks, opening my mouth under his. Our tongues meet and shove against each other furiously, desperate for more contact. My husband tears his mouth away from my lips and I whimper in disappointment. He sucks on my neck, nibbling playfully, before making his way down my body. I entangle my fingers in his curls, writhing beneath him, urging him lower. His mouth claims my breast, his teeth scraping my skin. Over and over again, his tongue swirls and flicks around my nipple, holding my waist to the bed with his hands.

"Francis…Francis, please," I moan. "Oh my god, _yes_…" I arch my spine and tilt my head back, my breaths ragged. His name falls upon my lips, but it comes out as a wordless sigh. Francis turns his attention to my other breast, kneading at me and pulling. He kisses my stomach before he finally reaches my thighs. He kisses my leg, undoing the ropes tying my ankles, his lusty stare devouring me whole.

"Mary," he pants. "You're beautiful." He kisses his way back up, my fingers knotted in his curls. I bow my back, pressing my breasts against him and lifting my hips off the bed, his tongue slowly making its way up my throat, to my collarbone, and to my earlobe before nibbling gently. I wrap my arms around his back, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder, gasping for breath. His thrusts become harder now, heavier, in a powerful rhythm that he knows will be my undoing.

"_Ohhh_, Francis….that feels good," I sigh. "You feel so good." I'm tempted to flip him over and take control. I've always loved my husband's dominance in bed, but that doesn't mean that I don't like to be the one in power from time to time. _My husband…my sexy Dominant husband. _Francis crashes into me, filling me with himself, and the pleasure is so spontaneous and white hot that a scream falls from my lips. We come together as one, crying our rapture in unison. I can't think of anything else. Only us. Only Francis. My—_our_—world is nothing but each other, skin on skin, and sharp pleasure. He runs a hand up the back of my thigh, pulling my knee a little higher until it's almost tucked into my chest as he drives himself into me, still maintaining the rhythm of our erotic song.

I'm unable to take more as I flip him over, climbing atop of him swiftly. Our foreheads come together as Francis massages my scalp, brushing my hair out of my face as he kisses me feverishly. I bring my hands to his face, rocking against him. He rests his forehead between my breasts, kneading slickly against my clit. I grit my teeth, grinding against him, and I cry for him as I orgasm again.

"Mary...oh god!" Francis breathes.

"God, Francis…" I gasp. "Mmm…Francis, oh god, oh oh _OH_!" He grabs a fistful of my hair, rolling in one motion. I'm underneath him again as he thrusts into me. One, twice, three times in punctuated, swift movements. He slides out of me before holding me close, settling me into the curve of his body as we catch our breath.

"Wow," I say, and I can't help but laugh. "That was…amazing, to say the least." Francis chuckles, kissing my bare shoulder, wrapping an arm around me possessively. Our fingers interweave with one another and my husband kisses my fingers. "I wasn't expecting to like the BDSM, but I suppose I'll get used to it over time. It scares me in a way, but it also excites me?"

"I'm not expecting you to dive into this headfirst, Mary," he tells me. "You get to set the pace. After what you've been through, it would be wrong of me to throw you into some of the extremes of it all. And of course, there are your hard and soft limits that have to be taken into consideration as well. I'm not just your Dom, Mary. I'm your husband and I love you and I just want to make your transition into this as easy as I possibly can."

"I know that, Francis," I respond, "and I love you for it." I reach for him, running my hand through the curls on the back of his head for several long, quiet moments. My hand falls to his cheek and he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. I let my hand fall after a few moments and my husband softly kisses my neck. "God, I'm exhausted," I comment and I laugh. "I would love for you to exhaust me some more, but I'm beat."

"Get some rest, Mary," suggests Francis. "I'll watch over you." He tucks me closer to his body, warming me, and I let sleep claim me.

* * *

My eyes flutter open as I turn, reaching out for my husband. I only finds emptiness, the smooth leather spreading underneath my palm. _Where'd he go? _I rise from the bed and make my way across the room and to the door. I close the bookshelf behind me as I reenter my chamber. Francis is nowhere in sight, I realize. Where the hell could be possibly be? I put my clothes back on, braiding my hair back, before I head out, trying to ignore the ache and tingling in my body.

"Mary! Mary, where have you been?" Kenna runs up to me. "Jesus Christ, you wouldn't believe what's gotten into Henri. He's been asking—more like demanding—for you. You and Francis, actually."

"Where is Francis anyways?" I ask her.

"Throne room," she says. "You should go. Henri's been acting really out of whack and it's really starting to scare me. Go, just go!" I nod, taking of running. I don't know what's gotten Henri so rattled, but I am almost certain that it involves England. _Henri's been fixated on seizing England ever since he heard that Mary hasn't named her heir. He sees me as the rightful Queen of England. _

When I finally make it to the throne room, Henri is absolutely furious. "What hell took you so long?" he demands. "Would it fucking kill you to stay out of Francis's bed and actually be the queen you're supposed to be?"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't you dare speak to my wife that way!" Francis snaps. "She is a queen and an ally. Our ally."

"How many times has Francis fucked you?" Henri asks flippantly. "You see, Mary, it is your queenly duty to provide my son with kings. Valois kings. You two were on your honeymoon for almost half a year and you still aren't pregnant."

"We are still trying," I say with cold courtesy. "We haven't been married for very long. Is this why you summoned me? To pester me about my sex life with my husband?" _Last I checked, nobody's been bothering you about your own sex life with Diane. _

"_I summoned you because you have yet to do your part_!" the king roars. I jump out of my skin, startled and frightened by his outburst, and I wrap my arms around myself. Henri reminds me of Tomas and I shiver, remembering his cruelty and what he'd done to me. "This evening, I will be hosting a gala. It'll be magnificent, you'll see. You will wear England's coat of arms. You _will _declare yourself for England."

"Or what?" I challenge. "Would you honestly turn your back on the Auld Alliance? France and Scotland share a common enemy in England…or have you forgotten?"

"You do not want to test me, Mary," Henri warns me. "You will declare yourself for England or I promise you, you will suffer the consequences."

"Did you just threaten my wife?" Francis growls, stepping in front of my protectively. "Was that a threat?"

"_She was supposed to give me England!" _Henri shoots to his feet and begins to pace to and fro restlessly. "Do you not understand, Francis? If Mary gives England over to France, I will be the most powerful man in all of Europe! And so will you, long after my time has passed! Why aren't you excited about this?"

"You do realize that this could cost Mary her life," my husband snaps. "Think about it, Father. England against France and Elizabeth against Mary. Are we really going to put her in danger?"

"What kind of king do you even want to be, Francis?" challenges Henri. "You are a fucking coward! It's like ever since Mary came along, it's always been about her for you. You've been _more concerned for her than what really matters ever since she got here_!" He storms towards us and Francis shoves me behind him, guarding me from his father. "I should've disowned you and legitimized Sebastian. God knows he wouldn't cow at such an opportunity. Get the hell out of my sight."

We don't need to be told twice. Francis takes my hand in his and leads me out of the throne room. I'm barely aware of the fact that I'm trembling. What the hell has gotten into Henri? I can't stake my claim to England, I know I can't. "Francis, I can't do this," I blurt. "England. I can't do England!"

"I know that, Mary," he says. "If you do, it'll be war. Scotland against England…"

"I can't drag France into a war that it can't win," I continue. "I can't, but if I don't, who the hell knows what Henri's going to do." I shake my head furiously. We make our way to our quarters, where we know we can talk in private. "Francis, Henri scares the shit out of me. Why is he acting so erratic? It's almost as if he's going mad!"

"I don't know," Francis tells me truthfully, "but I promise you, I won't let anything happen to you. Anyone who threatens you or terrorizes you or harms you…I _will _cut down. Even my father." And I know that he is not lying. _You killed Tomas to save my life. _I bring my hands to his face, kissing him softly. His hands slide around my waist, pressing our bodies together intimately.

_How many times has Francis fucked you? _Henri's words ring throughout my head. _You see, Mary, it is your queenly duty to provide my son with kings. Valois kings. You two were on your honeymoon for almost half a year and you still aren't pregnant. _Francis's kiss is more insistent as he reaches for the snap on my jeans. I pull away, before he can undo it.

"One thing that I've learned after doing some research on pregnancy is that…there are some days when it's more likely and days when it is less likely," I begin slowly. "You've been, uh…vigorous in trying to achieve what we both want, but I don't think it's going to happen tonight. Your father was right in one thing. It's been months and still nothing."

"Vigorous?" my husband echoes. I look down at my feet, mortified. _Really, Mary, really? Of all the words you could have used, 'vigorous'? _"I like that…I thought you did too." He strokes my cheek softly, and I meet his loving gaze. "Mary, I don't make love to you because I want a baby. I want a baby because I love you," he murmurs. "I love you."

I don't know what to say. What is there to say? I feel that _I love you too _doesn't quite suffice. I find that I don't have to respond as Francis leans back in, stealing another kiss. My hands move up his chest…to his shoulders and around his neck as he finally unsnaps my jeans. His lips reach for me, tasting my neck, biting and nibbling and sucking and I pull him closer to me, weaving my hands in his soft, silky curls as he kisses my body, starting at my neck and moving lower. Francis kisses me between my breasts and pulls my shirt up slightly, kissing my chest. A wordless moan escapes me as he sinks to his knees on the floor, his lips seeking out my sweet spot between my legs. I smirk to myself; I purposely didn't put my panties back on after our tryst in his playroom.

Francis's tongue teases my folds, slipping against my wetness, making small circles around my center. My eyes fall closed as liquid heat spreads throughout my being; I shudder and sigh in pleasure as my orgasm floods me. Francis inches back up my body, kissing every inch of skin, before reaching my lips again. He removes his shirt, baring his strong and muscular chest before reaching for me. I kiss him with a furious hunger, eager to feel him inside me once again, wiggling out of my jeans and leaving them in a heap on the floor. I raise my arms above my head as his hands slide up my waist, pushing my shirt over my head and letting it fall to the floor. I stand before him, my body bared for him, and he closes the space between our bodies, his mouth claiming mine as he possesses me completely. My breasts press hard against his chest, his hands in my hair and our tongues slipping and sliding against each other. I moan into his mouth as we fall into bed.

My husband is relentless as he makes love to me, our naked bodies finally coming together and joining as one. I can feel myself unravelling beneath him as he plunges in and out of me in swift, deep and pulsing strokes, pushing me over the edge. I scream, clinging to him, as raw pleasure rushes through me. He bites my neck, my shoulder, my breasts and the hollow space between them, whispering my name huskily. After we make love, we hold one another, resting in each other's arms.

"I love you," I say. I close my eyes, letting Francis's touch lull me as he caresses my back. "I don't have a choice, do I?" I lift my head, propping myself up on one elbow. "About England, I mean."

"I won't let my father hurt you, Mary," he reassures me. "I promise you." He sighs and shakes his head. "I have no idea what's gotten into him lately, but he's become so irrational and erratic. And not just about politics."

"What do you mean? What else has he done?" I ask.

"I've heard the servants talking of how he's deserted Diane for other women," my husband explains. I raise my eyebrows in shock. I never would have imagined Henri to leave Diane—his mistress and concubine, wife in all but name. "He left her without giving a reason why."

"Why would he abandon her? I don't understand."

"He's been bedding other women and a few of them have been coming back with bruises all over their bodies," he tells me gravely. "And others…not at all."

"Oh my god…"

"I've asked my mother about it and she says that it all started on our wedding day. Mary, I'm going to be honest with you: I'm scared. Not just of my father, but I'm scared for you. My father's always been an ambitious man, but I'm worried. I once thought I could entrust him with your life but after what happened today, I can't."

"So, what are we supposed to do about the gala tonight?" I press. "If I stake my claim, there will most certainly be war. Catholics against Protestants, the English against the French. And Elizabeth. She has spies everywhere, even here in France. If I don't, who knows what Henri's going to do?"

"Mary, you're going to have to do it," says Francis solemnly.

"What?" I exclaim. "Francis, no! I can't and you know that! A few hours ago you even agreed with me on that!"

"My father is an unpredictable man and whatever the consequences are for not doing it will be worse than those if you do," he explains. "Trust me, Mary. I will protect you tonight and look out for you." He pauses. "I promise, you'll be safe with me."

I nod silently. _If you're going to be protecting me, who will protect you from your father? _


	16. Sundown

"Are you almost ready?" I ask Francis. I stand in front of the mirror, putting on a pair of diamond earrings. My crimson, satin gown is floor-length, almost like a ball gown, with England's royal arms, displayed upon my breast and my hair is tied up in a bun, a golden crown upon my head. I take a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart.

My husband approaches me, standing behind me as he wraps his arms around my waist. I close my eyes, letting myself melt into him. "I'm ready as I'll ever be," he says. "I wish you didn't have to do this, Mary."

"Believe me, I do too," I sigh, "but I'm safe with you." I turn around, sliding my arms around him, and our lips are inches away from meeting when there is a knock on the door. Pulling away from my husband, I call, "Who is it?"

"Francis, may I speak with Mary alone?" Catherine asks, opening the door and storming in. "Go and enjoy the party. We'll be with you shortly." Her eyes are ablaze with a barely suppressed fury, but her voice is calm with forced courtesy. Francis glances towards me and I give him the slightest nod. _Go. _And he goes, closing the door behind him.

"Catherine—"

"_What the hell do you think you're doing, Mary_?" the queen rages. "Why would you come back to court and why are you giving Henri what he wants?"

"I didn't come back out of my own will," I explain. "Francis sent the cops after me and they stopped me before I could even reach the airport. I already told him of the prophecy, Catherine, and he doesn't believe it. Tell me, which of Nostradamus's visions have actually come to pass?"

"Does it really matter?" she hisses. "He has seen Francis's death and Henri's death as well! You're going to be the death of us all, Mary, and God help you when fate proves you wrong. What matters is that by staying here, you've doomed Francis and quite possibly the entire Valois line. I hope it was worth it." Her words lash at me like a whip, cutting at me and making me bleed to my core. "We should get going. We have a party to attend."

* * *

I can feel everyone's eyes upon me as I enter the ballroom. Their hushed whispers buzz around me; some whip out their phones to snap photos, others leave the room or try to pretend that I'm not here. Francis walks over to me, offering me his hand.

"Are you okay?" he asks under his breath.

"I'm fine,"' I say as my husband leads me out onto the dance floor. "Everything's fine. What of your father? How has he been acting since the party started?" Francis takes me into his arms once we reach the center of the dance floor, one hand wrapping intimately around my waist and the other taking my hand as we let the music carry us wherever it wills.

"He's been extremely on edge," he tells me. "He saw you come in bearing English's royal arms, and—"

"Is he happy?" I question, with a sour edge in my voice. "I gave him what we wanted. I've declared myself Elizabeth's enemy when that is the last thing my country needs—what I need." I roll my eyes in disdain. "I can't give him England even if I wanted to, Francis. I don't _want _the English throne."

"It's hard trying to figure him out," says Francis. "There is no use in trying to stay out of his way. As long as he's king…" He trails off, leaving me to fill in the blanks. I stare at him dubiously.

"As long as he's king…what? As long as he's king, we're going to have to answer to every beck and call of his?" I demand. "You've got to be fucking joking, Francis!" I scoff. "And I thought that staking my claim to England was a bad idea…but this is ridiculous!"

"Mary, that's not what I'm saying."

"Then, what are you saying?" I retort. "Enlighten me please. Do you have any sort of plan on how to deal with your father as he becomes more and more erratic? The man is going mad, Francis." I pull myself out of his arms, ending our dance. Francis grasps me by the shoulders firmly, massaging my arms and loosening the tension in my body.

"I'm saying that we should at least keep a close eye on him and pretend to cooperate," he says. "I don't want to take any drastic courses of action. We don't know what's causing him to act so irrational. Mary, my love, relax. You know I wouldn't want us to submit to his bidding without question. This whole affair about England was risky enough as it is. English messengers are surely on their way to report back to Elizabeth."

"That's just great," I mutter. "I already have enough to worry about." Francis gently kisses my forehead, rubbing small circles into my back. I'm about to say more when Henri approaches.

"Mary," he says, "I'm glad you were able to show some sense and do what I asked you to." His voice is warm, but I can sense a harsh cruelty beneath him, as can Francis. Our fingers interlace and Francis lightly squeezes my hand; I return the pressure.

"Father, can we not do this right now?" Francis asks tersely. "Can I please share a dance with my wife?"

"I have heard rumors that the Tudor bitch has finally died," the king rambles on excitedly, "but of course, they're just fucking rumors. For now. The sooner she dies, the sooner England becomes mine. Mary, you have made yourself a candidate for being the next Queen of England. Well done!" Henri's eyes are crazed with excitement and a dangerous bloodlust. A pit forms in my stomach as I realize that he is indeed a madman. "Sebastian, my son, come here!" he calls. "Come, have a talk with your father and your brother!" I'm hardly aware of the fact that I'm squeezing Francis's hand as Bash approaches, a glass of champagne in hand. My heart is pounding in my chest, a wave of nausea crashing over me.

"Father, I'm glad to see you're enjoying the—" Bash begins. Everything suddenly becomes a blur. He doesn't have a chance to finish as, out of nowhere, Henri brandishes a knife and a red smile is cut across Bash's throat. Bash collapses, bringing a hand to his throat, making a sickening sound of gurgling and choking as blood spews from him like a fountain. Francis screams, catching his brother and sinking to his knees, sobbing inconsolably. I can barely hear Francis's tearful pleading over the sound of my blood pounding in my ears. Bash reaches for him, trying to speak, but only blood spills from his throat. He mouths a word. _Brother. _

"Do not presume to think you can defy me without consequence," Henri says coldly. "This blood is on your hands." He disappears into the crowd; the ballroom has become the host of chaos and death. I kneel at Francis's side as he cradles Bash's…corpse, tears pouring down his cheeks. I'm hardly aware of the tears on my cheeks as I reach out, gently closing Bash's eyes. This can't be happening. Henri can't have murdered Bash in front of the entire court. A piercing scream pierces the air as Kenna shoves her way through the crowd.

"LET ME THROUGH!" she shrieks. She finally makes it to us and when she sees Francis kneeling on the floor, weeping as he holds Bash's lifeless body, her legs buckle. My husband's clothes are wet in Bash's blood, and his hands are red. "No no no no no no no _NO! BASH, NO NO NO! PLEASE_!" Kenna screams. "COME BACK TO ME! THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING! NO NO NO, PLEASE _NO_!" Her words break off as she breaks down entirely.

I gather my husband into my arms, gently pulling him away from the gruesome body of his brother. "Shhh, shhh, Francis," I murmur, my voice shaking with tears. "I'm here, I'm here." He hides his face in the crook of my neck, clinging to me, as his entire body shakes with sobs.

"It hurts," he weeps. "Oh my god, it hurts—_please make it stop! It hurts_!" I wind my hand through the curls on the back of his head, rocking back and forth. My mind is still unable to register what I've seen; I tremble uncontrollably, tears silently falling down my cheeks as I try to console my husband. My hands are shaking and I can't breathe. Through a haze of tears, I see Catherine make her way towards us.

"_CLEAR OUT THE ROOM_!" she booms to the guests. _"GET OUT NOW!_" As the guests disperse, she looks down towards us. Kenna scrambles to her feet and leaves along with the others, overcome with tears.

"Catherine, we have to do something," I tell her shakily. "God…France can't be governed by Henri. Not after this." I shake my head furiously, choking on a sob. "Bash didn't deserve to die like this…butchered like a pig by his own father." It dawns on me then. "Oh my…oh god, the prophecy, Catherine—"

"Mary, it doesn't matter now," she says quietly, and gently puts a hand on Francis's shoulder. "Francis? Francis, you and Mary can't stay here. I have to get rid of the body and all evidence of what happened tonight." My husband disengages from me and in that moment, he is a lost little boy. Tears streak from his eyes ceaselessly as he meets his mother's gaze, and my heart aches for him.

"I can't leave him," he says. "Mother, I can't—"

"Shhh, it's going to be okay," Catherine murmurs. "You're going to be okay. Go to your chambers and stay there. I'll take care of the rest."

* * *

When we make it to our rooms, a heavy silence hangs between us. Not a word is exchanged as Francis heads into the bathroom; the only sound I can hear is the sound of my breathing and running water. I remove the crown from my head and take out my hairclip, letting my hair tumble down my shoulders. My dress is stained with blood—Bash's blood. I reach for the zipper on the back, pulling it down, when all of a sudden, Francis steps behind me and slowly pulls it down. The movement is slow and fluid and my dress falls to the floor at my feet, leaving me naked. I turn around to face him, our eyes finding each other.

My husband's azure eyes are filled with a raw grief, the horrors of tonight undoubtedly still fresh in his mind. I reach for him, gently holding his face in my palm. He kisses the center of my palm before kissing the rings on my finger. I close my eyes, his touch alone temporarily calming the storm of my fraying emotions. His touch conveys so many unspoken words, and I know that mine does too.

"I should probably wash off," I say quietly, "and get this blood off my hands." Francis nods silently, and as I walk to the bathroom, our hands brush ever so slightly. Tears slide from my cheeks as I enter the shower, turning on the water. The warm water kisses my skin, the blood swirling down the drain. My hair sticks to my body and my tears mingle with the water. I run my hands through my hair, exhaling shakily. A sob threatens to break through my chest, and I let it come. Nothing feels real anymore. How can Bash be dead? How can any of this have happened? So many questions swirl about in my mind, each of them worse than the last. I almost jump out of my skin when I feel Francis behind me.

"Mary," he whispers brokenly. "I can't…I can't—" He shakes his head vigorously and I don't hesitate as I pull him into my arms. I murmur words of comfort in his ear as he quietly sobs into my shoulder. I know that there is nothing I can do for him but be there for him. I close my eyes, letting my own tears spill over, as I hold my husband. I don't know how long we stand, cleansing ourselves of Bash's blood yet drowning in our grief. It feels like hours have passed until we finally pull apart.

"Are you going to be alright, Francis?" I ask gently, touching his face with my palm.

"I'll be fine," my husband answers quickly. "You don't have to worry about me." He pulls away from me. "I'm going to dry off and get ready for bed."

"Okay," I say. "I'll join you in just a bit. I-I need a little bit more time in here." Francis nods before gently brushing his lips against mine. I watch forlornly as he climbs out of the shower, tears stinging in my eyes. My vision blurs; only when he leaves the bathroom do I allow myself to finally break down. My legs buckle and I fall back against the shower wall, sinking to the floor as the first sob breaks free. I tuck my knees into my chest, burying my face in my arms as I begin to cry. Everything that I've buried for Francis's sake bursts out of me like a dam breaking. I weep for Francis, I weep for Kenna, and I weep for Bash. None of this was supposed to have happened. _Kenna should be planning her wedding to Bash, not his funeral. _It seems an eternity before my sobs slow to shudders. I rise to my feet and turn off the water. I dry quickly before brushing my hair and donning my PJs: a camisole and a pair of scarlet flannel sweatpants.

My husband sits in our bed, his knees held tight against his chest, tears running down his cheeks. I slowly make my way to him, sitting on the bed next to him and gently rubbing his back. "Shhh, shhh," I whisper. "It's going to be okay, Francis." But even as I say the words, I know that they aren't true. Nothing is okay. Nothing about what happened tonight is okay.

Francis finds my gaze, letting out a teary sigh that breaks off on a choked sob. "I'm sorry, Mary. I—"

"No, no, no, no. Don't you dare apologize," I rebuke, not ungently. "Don't apologize for your grief, my love." I can feel my heart break in my breast as my husband tries to fight back tears, but he is visibly losing the fight. "He was your_ brother_, Francis." _And Henri is your father still, and he is the one responsible for your pain. Bash's blood is on his hands, not ours. _My blood runs cold as I remember how casual Henri was right before he opened his own son's throat. Francis's screams still ring in my head and I shudder.

"And now he's dead," he chokes. "He's dead, Bash is dead." Fresh tears stream down his cheeks and I reach out for him, brushing the curls on the back of his head. "I don't understand what happened tonight or _why _it happened," he confesses. "It…it hurts to try to make sense of it all. I just…" He is cut off when Catherine opens the door and steps into the room.

"Catherine," I say. "What are you doing here?" The queen makes her way towards us before sitting on the foot of the bed.

"I knew that Henri's behavior was erratic, but I never thought it would escalate to this so quickly," she says. "Murdering Sebastian in front of the entire court, so openly…" She shakes her head sadly. "I was never too fond of the de Poitiers, but I never wanted him dead."

"How is Kenna?" I question.

"She's devastated," replies Catherine, "just as anyone would be after losing their fiancé. My heart goes out to her, the poor girl….but she isn't my main concern. You and Francis are." She shifts her attention from me to her son. "Francis? Francis, honey? Is there anything I can do to help you through this?"

Francis shakes his head furiously, and his mother takes him into her arms, holding him close as he cries silently, his shoulders shaking with sobs. I reach for his hand and squeeze gently. In this moment, we are a family, our differences forgotten, united in our grief.


	17. Mourning

The days that follow are utterly desolate as news of Henri's madness and murder of Bash spreads throughout France and all of Europe and across the globe. Everywhere I go, it follows, haunting me. Gruesome photos of Francis kneeling at his brother's body and weeping in my arms dominate the papers with headlines screaming to the world of how France is governed by a mad king, videos taken by bystanders take over the internet, and the media swarms the Louvre. A crowd of reporters stand outside the castle gates, swarming and circling like a pack of vultures desperate for a kill.

A cloud of darkness and mourning hangs over court; everyone knows what Henri has done and there is talk amongst some of the high lords about how unfit he is to rule and how it is time for a new king to sit the French throne. _Francis. _Diane de Poitiers has left Henri and left France without so much as a goodbye. _Bash's funeral is today, _I realize with a start, _in less than an hour_. The service is going to be held in the Notre Dame Cathedral and televised for all of the world to see, just as my wedding to Francis was just four months ago and Bash's burial will be a private affair. There is a rap on the door, interrupting me from my thoughts.

"Come in!" I call, hastily donning a pair of diamond earrings. My black dress is short and simple and my hair is braided, falling across my back. In the mirror, I see Catherine step into the room. She too is prepared for the funeral; her stare is solemn. I turn around to face her. "Catherine," I begin. "Hi." I'm not sure what to say. What can I say? "How's Francis?" I ask. "I haven't seen him since this morning and I'm worried. I know how hard this must be for him." I shake my head sadly.

"He's in the gardens," his mother informs me. "You should go to him, Mary." Her voice is soft, heavy with sorrow. "He needs you. Perhaps more than he needs me."

"Why do you say that, Catherine?" I can't help but ask. "You're his mother…I would imagine that—"

"Trust that I know my son," she says. "Sebastian's death has…he's devastated, Mary. Francis loved his brother. It doesn't help in the slightest how the incident has been splashed all over the media. You've seen it. We all have. It breaks my heart to see him in so much pain. But, why you and not me? For as long as Sebastian has lived here, I have been nothing but cruel and cold towards him because he was Henri's son by Diane. And I know how Francis resents me for it. Looking back, I regret my cruelty but it's something that I'm going to have to live with. I want to be there for Francis, I do, and I will always support him. I will do what I can to help him get past this, but I believe you can help him in a way that I won't be able to. As a mother, Mary, it is second nature for me to protect my children. I want to protect my son and help him as much as I can, but I can't. Not this time. I'm more than aware of the political ramifications of what Henri has done, but that is not my main concern. My son is my main concern."

"What are we going to do about Henri?" I murmur.

"I'll do what I can to temper him, Mary," my mother-in-law continues. "His fixation on England might cost us a lot more than just Sebastian's life if nothing is done. And Francis should not have to cope with his father's verbal abuse on top of all of this." She pauses briefly, and a single tear trickles down her cheek. "Go to Francis, Mary. Go."

* * *

Francis is indeed in the gardens. I find him sitting on one of the benches, a notebook on his lap. Several balls of crumpled up paper surround him. I approach him slowly, sitting by his side. His navy eyes, brimming with unshed tears, search mine as he lets out a shaky sigh. I rub his arm gently and he covers my hand with his.

"I don't know what to say," he chokes, tears dripping down his chin. "I shouldn't have to write a eulogy for my brother's funeral. He shouldn't be dead. He shouldn't be lying in a coffin in Notre Dame, Mary." He chuckles humorlessly, but it comes out as more of a sob. I massage his back, fighting back tears of my own and my heart aching in my chest. "I'm sure my father's having the last laugh in all of this."

"Hey, easy," I murmur. "Easy, love. Just speak from the heart, okay? Don't think too hard or too much about it. It doesn't have to be a grand speech. Say what you need to say." I caress his face, wiping away some stray tears, before softly kissing his cheek. "Do you want me to stay with you for a while?"

"No," my husband answers. "I'll be fine. I'll…I'll see you at the cathedral." I rise before I take my leave of him, but not before I look over my shoulder towards him. He furiously writes in his notebook, tears streaming from his eyes. The mourning bells ring throughout France and I know that it is time.

* * *

The people of France are slowly trickling into Notre Dame when I arrive. I make my way into the cathedral and it's only then that I see Francis. He stands before Bash's open coffin, his back to me. I go to him, gently putting my hand on his shoulder. My husband jumps before he turns to face me, a tear sliding down his cheek.

"Mary," he says. "I didn't see you there."

"Do you need a minute before the service begins?" I ask softly. "Everyone's settling in and getting ready." My husband shakes his head, glancing back towards Bash's body and back to me. _I am so sorry, my love. You shouldn't have to go through this. _I can't bring myself to look at Bash; I still can't register that he's dead. I can't register that he's never coming back and that I'll never see him again. I'll never see him again, one of my closest friends here in France. I must stay strong for my husband—and for Kenna.

"No, no. I'm okay," Francis tells me. "I'm ready." His voice wavers and I take his hand in mine as we make our way to our seats in the front of the altar. My ladies sit on my opposite side, Catherine by her son. Henri is nowhere to be seen. _Of course Henri wouldn't be here, _I muse sourly._ He doesn't care that he murdered his own son. _Kenna's face is awash with tears; she refuses to meet my eyes as she stares straight ahead.

"We are gathered here today to pay our respects and say goodbye to our brother, our friend, Sebastian de Poitiers," the minister begins. "We are also here today to show our support for Sebastian's family and friends, for we are all of God's children. We are all one family—and we have lost one of our own. Too soon, too early. No words of God can ease that pain…but it is not my words we will listen to today." He steps away from the podium and Kenna rises from the pew. Her body shakes with barely suppressed sobs as she approaches the microphone.

"My name is Kenna, and Bash was my fiancé," she begins, "but to me, he was so much more than my future husband. He was my best friend…my home—and he loved with every part of his being. He loved me, he loved his brother with such fierceness that made me love him all the more. He didn't deserve to die so…so soon. He wasn't supposed to, but I'm so, so grateful for the time we had together. I just wish we could've had more." She pauses, wiping her tears and pulling out a piece of paper. "These are the vows that I wrote for him for…for when we would get married. I wanted to share them with you and I wanted Bash to have a chance to hear them. William Shakespeare once wrote, 'Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. It is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. Love alters not with time's brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom'. When I first realized I was falling in love with you, it scared me. Not because I was scared of loving you, but because of how _much_ I loved you. You challenge me, Sebastian. You challenge me and inspire me and you make me brave. And I love you for it. I love you for who you are. You're my best friend and my lover; you're a brother and a friend, and I cannot pick which side of you I love most. Today, I vow to love and cherish and protect you as your wife. Till death do us part." Kenna's voice breaks on her last words as sobs overcome her. She runs back to the pews and Greer holds her as she cries. Tears slip down my cheeks; I feel Francis's hand tighten around mine. I glance towards him; his face is wet with tears as they incessantly course down his cheeks. I return the pressure as he meets my gaze. Francis rises from his seat, slowly making his way to the podium. He exhales shakily and tearfully, finding my eyes and looking down towards his eulogy. He opens his mouth as if to begin, but a sob comes out instead.

"Bash was my brother," he chokes out. "He was my big brother. I-I…he was my big brother and I loved him. I looked up to him like any little brother would. It never mattered to me that we were half-brothers. For as long as I can remember, he's always been there for me." My husband's words break off on another choked sob and he runs a hand over his face, trying to conceal his tears and recompose himself. His breaths are short and ragged. _He's falling apart at the seams._ Several moments pass until he is able to continue. "The last thing he asked of me before…before he died, was if I could be his best man at his wedding for when he married Kenna. I wish so badly that he were still here with us…with me. I—I'm sorry. I-I-I can't do this." Francis abruptly leaves the podium, returning to his seat next to me as sobs wrack him. He leans into me, falling into my arms and leaning his head against my shoulder as he breaks down into gut-wrenching sobs. I hold him close to me, rubbing his back, and I kiss his hair. I can barely see through my own tears as I console my husband; I'm scarcely aware of my own sobs as we hold each other. I'm crying for him, for Kenna, and for Bash, whose life was cut too short by his own father. _None of this should have happened. Bash shouldn't be dead. _

The rest of the service goes on, but time is nonexistent. I cradle Francis in my arms, whispering words of comfort to him as I stroke his hair. A surge of protectiveness over him swells through me, as well as a strong, venomous hatred towards Henri. It's because of Henri that Bash is dead. It's because of Henri that Francis has lost his brother, Kenna her fiancé, and I a dearest friend. Nothing about this is okay. I hate how Henri has caused Francis so much pain—and it hurts, knowing that there's nothing I can do for my husband except be there for him. I want nothing more than to make his pain stop. Long after the service has closed and the people gone, I remain with my husband, holding him and soothing him. The burial is to be two hours after the service, I remember. The cathedral is eerily empty; the only sounds filling the void of silence are my husband's sobs and my uneven breathing.

Francis pulls himself out of my arms once his sobs have quieted, hastily wiping his eyes. I massage his back as he calms, remaining silent, for I know that nothing I can say will make this easier on him. All I can do is be here for him. I reach for him, brushing my hand through his curls. His eyes are red from crying, his face streaked with tears. I reach into my purse and give him a tissue. He takes it, dabbing at his eyes and mopping his face of any stray tears that have fallen.

"Shhh, shhh," I say softly. "Francis, my love. Deep breaths now. Deep breaths. That's it, that's it. In and out. Just breathe. Shhh. Are you sure you want to attend the burial in just a couple hours? I don't want to see you hurting even more than you already are."

"He's my brother, Mary," Francis responds. "God knows that I'll regret it if I don't—but I…I just need to make it through today. I'll be fine. I'll be okay." His last words seem like he's trying to convince himself instead of me. This realization causes my heart to plummet. _His grief for Bash runs deeper than I originally believed. So much deeper _"Do you _want_ to go?"

"What I want is to support you through all of this," I tell him. "I mean, of course, I want to attend the burial—but, Francis, darling. I know how much you're hurting right now; nothing about this is right nor fair, but what matters is that we face it together. I love you, Francis."

"I love you too," he says quietly. "I love you so much." I pull him into my arms, letting him bury himself in my comfort. He needs it—he needs _me_. I close my eyes, hot tears falling down my face, and welcome the brutal confinements of grief.

* * *

Bash's burial ceremony takes place in a private cemetery close to the Louvre as the sun sets in the horizon. Only Kenna, Francis, and I are present. Catherine is trying to divert Henri's attention from England and further tormenting Francis and the rest of my ladies want to give us some time alone to grieve. The minister recites a prayer as Bash's coffin is slowly lowered into the ground. Kenna is completely stoic, tears silently running from her eyes. She is utterly exhausted from the funeral, and there is a deep sadness about her, mixed with anger. Francis doesn't say a word nor to Kenna nor to me as he watches as his brother is laid to rest. I wrap my arms around him and he returns my embrace, leaning against me. He presses a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threaten to overcome him, but to no avail. I murmur words of comfort in his ear as he buries his face in my shoulder, weeping.

"I'm leaving France," says Kenna, breaking the silence. "I can't stay here." She shakes her head sadly. "I won't. This place reminds me too much of what I've lost. I can't go back to court and be forced to see the king every single day. I can't be faced with my fiancé's killer every day." I nod in understanding and she continues, "Can you release me from being one of your ladies? I can't do this, Mary. I just can't."

I nod again, and Kenna lets out a breath of—what?—relief? Gratitude? I'm unable to bring myself to be angry with her for following in Diane's footsteps. Bash's death has shaken us all, even all of Europe. I can't even begin to fathom the political consequences of all of this, not because I don't want to imagine them, but rather because I can't bring myself to think of politics. Not now. Kenna kneels to the ground, placing a rose atop of the coffin, as the pastor finishes his prayer and takes his leave of us. The air is heavy with mourning, and the bells still yet ring. My hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

* * *

When Francis and I return to our apartments, the castle is eerily quiet. The people are whispering amongst themselves and King Henri is nowhere in sight. A part of me is glad, for I don't know how I would react to being faced with him again after all that has happened. I don't know how my husband would cope, and I'm afraid to find out. I close the door behind us once we enter the room.

"Are you going to be okay, Francis?" I question softly.

"No," he says, his voice breaking. "I'm not okay, Mary, and I'm not going to _be _okay!" My husband shakes his head, exhaling shakily as fresh tears make his way down his face. "I'm not okay, alright?" He turns to face me, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. "_My father murdered my brother right in front of me, Mary_! Bash is _dead! My brother is dead!_" Tears cascade down his cheeks and I go to him. "My brother is _dead_, Mary! He's _dead! _It hurts so bad, I can't _breathe_! I can't…I can't, Mary. I can't do this, okay? I can't! I shouldn't have to!" I envelop Francis in my arms as sobs overtake him completely.

"Shhh, shhh, shhh," I whisper. "Nobody should have to, Francis. God, it's not fair. It's not, and I get it. I do, I really do. Shhh, shhh, my love. Just let it out. I'm here and I'm not leaving you. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here. Shhh, shhh, everything's going to be okay. I promise. I know it seems like the pain will never end, but it will. You just have to let yourself drown in it, you have to let it in. I know, I know, it hurts. I know." I wind my hand through his hair, holding him close. "You are not alone in this, Francis. You're not." I plant a kiss on his head, letting the doors open as our pain and sorrow consumes.

_These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder. Which, as they kiss, consume. _


	18. Mercy

February, March, April, June, July—the days turn into weeks and the weeks into months. Court hasn't been the same since Bash's death, no matter how hard we try to pretend as though nothing has changed. Francis and I attend to our duties as dauphin and dauphine of France, but afterwards, my husband spends his time in the mourning chamber in complete and utter solitude, his grief his only companion. My heart is still heavy with sorrow, but the pain is no longer as sharp as it once was. _Ever since Kenna left court, I have yet to hear a word from her. _

"It's been five months since Bash's death," I say to Catherine. "I'm worried about Francis." She has summoned me to her rooms this evening. The air is hot and humid, a contrast to the cold emptiness that seems to have filled the castle. "You know how he's been locking himself in the mourning chambers over these past few months. It seems that he almost never comes out unless it's to see to any political matters—"

"Or visit the cemetery," she interjects. "Mary, my spies have reported seeing him going to the cemetery on an almost daily basis to visit his brother." Her eyes are pained and worried, mirroring my own feelings. My mother-in-law shakes her head sadly. "I wish there was something that we could do to ease his pain. I hate feeling so helpless...are you pregnant yet, Mary?"

"Excuse me?" I ask, startled by the sudden change in direction. "What does whether or not I'm pregnant have to do with anything?" Francis and I have been married for almost six months now and we have yet to conceive; he's been vigorous in his efforts, as I have. "You think a child is the happiness he needs right now," I realize. "Catherine, we've been trying ever since we got married and nothing has happened! What possibly makes you think something would happen now?"

"You never know what might happen," she answers bluntly. "Mary, I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you—"

"No, you can't," I cut her off. "It sounds as if you're asking me to seduce my husband just in the hopes of finally conceiving a child. Do you have any idea how fucked up that sounds?" I'm not sure whether or not to be disgusted or furious at the suggestion; it almost sounds like Olivia's attempt to seduce my husband prior to our marriage, to be frank.

"That is not what I'm asking of you at all!" Catherine assures me. "All I am trying to tell you is that the only hope Francis has had ever since he lost his brother is the hope of a child. To be honest, I think that hope is the one thing that's kept him from falling apart wholly after what's transpired." She paces to and fro anxiously as she speaks.

"Why am I really here, Catherine?" I demand. "Surely you did not summon me here to just talk of Francis. What else is going on?" I don't doubt the sincerity of her concern for her son, but my intuition tells me there's something else at play.

"It's Henri," she tells me. "This has gone on long enough, Mary, and we both know it. Sebastian's murder was a needless death. Henri is beyond saving. I just wish it didn't take the shedding of innocent blood for me to see it. His obsession with England is unwavering and dangerous—especially now that Mary Tudor has died. She hasn't yet named her heir to the throne, but because of that little stunt you pulled at the gala by staking your claim, Elizabeth sees it as a declaration of war…all because of Henri's insatiable hunger for power."

"What are you saying?"

"Henri has to die, Mary. I believe that all of France is aware of how unfit he is to rule after he murdered Sebastian so publicly," Catherine says.

"What am I supposed to tell Francis?" I press. "I'm not going to keep this from him. I can't lie to him. Not now. Not after what he's been through."

"You're not going to tell him. We are," she explains. "And together, with or without Francis, we are going to kill the King of France."

* * *

Francis sits by the window, staring outside, as I enter our quarters. He shifts to look at me as I close the door behind me. "Mary," he says, faintly surprised. "Hey." I close the distance between us and he rises to his feet.

"Francis, my love," I begin. "I'm worried about you." _Just get straight to the point, Mary. You knew you would have this talk sooner or later. _"I'm worried about you, and so is Catherine. I understand that you just can't get over your brother's death, I do, but…it's been months now. Please, let me in. Let me help you."

"There's nothing you can do, Mary," Francis tells me. "Do you even know what it felt like? To be able to do nothing for your brother as he dies in your arms? To feel his blood on your hands? It was a nightmare and I don't know how to wake up from that. It's like I'm sleepwalking, but I'm wide awake." I reach for him, holding his face in my hands.

"I know how it feels," I murmur. "After what happened with Tomas, I thought I would never heal. I don't know if I'll ever fully get past it, to be honest, but I had you to help me through it. You and my ladies. You think you're alone, but you're not. Trust me, you are not alone—I will never, _ever _let you be alone, Francis, because _I love you. _Do you hear me? _I love you_." I stroke his face with my thumb as he runs his knuckle down my cheek. A silence falls between us; Francis's eyes find my lips. My heart pounds in my chest and my husband closes the distance between our lips, his mouth ravishing mine. This kiss is different, almost savage and animalistic in its passion. My husband tears open my leather jacket, buttons flying asunder, and I shrug it off my shoulders. I tug at Francis's shirt, helping him pull it up over his head before he tosses it to the floor.

"We shouldn't," I whisper under my breath.

"I don't care," my husband growls. "I want you." He lifts me into his arms and sets me down upon the bed, not once breaking our kiss. His mouth seeks my chest, pulling up my shirt, slowly making his way up my body. I gasp as his teeth rake my skin, teasing my bare breast, and I remove my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. I shudder and moan as Francis enters me, our naked bodies finally coming together. He kisses me, pushing and pulling in and out of me in slow, powerful thrusts. I rock myself against him, meeting his passion with mine as I cup his face in my hands, shoving my tongue inside his mouth. I moan into his mouth in contentment; every nerve in my body is set alight at his touch. Francis grabs my thigh, hitching it around his back as he kneads at me. He kisses and sucks at the hollow of my throat before moving his lips to my neck.

"_Francis_," I sigh. "Francis, please…" I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers forming knots in his hair. _This isn't exactly how I imagined things would go, _I muse to myself. My husband runs a finger down my lips; the act itself, along with his rhythmic pulsing, sends a hot surge of pleasure shooting through me. I bury my face in his shoulder as I cry out for him. Our lips come together once again and I roll atop my husband, mounting him. Francis clutches a handful of my hair, bringing me closer to him and tugging gently, as we push and pull at each other, driving each other to our limits. His hand splays across my bare back before reaching down to squeeze my ass. Our lovemaking is fierce and unrelenting; I pull away from my husband, planting my hands on his chest and arching my back as we both orgasm, screaming each other's name. Searing hot ecstasy comes to me over and over again; my nails rake down Francis's back, and after we're finished, we lay together in each other's arms, our sweated bodies entwined.

I reach for Francis's hand, lacing our fingers together, and I kiss his knuckles softly. "Francis, love?" I ask. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine, Mary," he answers. "You don't have to worry about me, okay?" My husband kisses my hand before holding it close to his heart. His heart beats under our joined hands.

"I meant it when I said that I'm not going to let you be alone," I say gently. "Stop shutting me out. Let me be here for you." I caress his face with my other hand, cupping his face in my palm. "I will fight at your side, to hell and back."

"What would I do without you?" Francis's voice is filled with awe and wonder and love and sadness when he speaks. He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He brings my mouth to his and he makes love to me again, just as passionate and unyielding as the last. We spend the next hours making love in each other's arms, exploring one another and letting the world fall away. It isn't until afterwards that Catherine sends for us both.

_Forgive me, Francis. _

* * *

"What's going on, Mother?" Francis asks as soon as we enter the council chambers. "Why did you call me and Mary?" I inhale and exhale slowly, trying to calm my fraying nerves. _Henri has to die. We all know it, _I think to myself. For a moment, I wonder if I was right in my hesitance to tell my husband of the plan to kill Henri earlier.

"Francis, there is no easy way for me to say this," begins Catherine. "I've given it much thought and consulted with Mary as well. Henri can no longer reign over France. It's time we dispatched him. His madness has reached its peak; Sebastian's death is all the reason we need to end this now."

"Dispatch Father?" my husband echoes in disbelief. He stares at her for a moment and then at me for several moments before it finally sinks in. Shock and anger take over his features as he shakes his head slowly. "_No. No. Absolutely not._"

"Don't get sentimental about a father who was never sentimental about you!" the queen snaps. "The same father who murdered your brother in cold blood! Or have you forgotten that?"

"That is _not _fair," growls Francis. "Mother, Father is _sick. _There has to be something we've missed! Poison, some disease, _something_—I don't know!"

"I've already ruled out poison," Catherine informs him, "and even if it were poison, it wouldn't make a difference. Henri is beyond saving. How many more innocents have to die before you see it? Sebastian was just the first. Who knows who's going to die next?"

"Francis, I'm sorry—but she's right," I interject. "Henri's closed his mind to reason and morality. I thought he was merely obsessed with England, but he _killed _Bash without second thought. He killed his own son—your _brother, _my friend, Kenna's fiancé—without mercy!"

"So this is about revenge?" Francis shouts. "Mary, he didn't know what he was doing! He wouldn't have done it if he were himself!" He paces the length of the room, shaking his head furiously. I watch him, feeling my heart sinking in my breast. _He's in denial over what happened. He refuses to believe that Henri knew what he was doing when he murdered Bash. _I can't help but remember Catherine's words from hours ago. _The only hope Francis has had ever since he lost his brother is the hope of a child, _she had said. I place a hand on my stomach, wondering. Will I ever bear a child? Will I give Francis sons and daughters?

_Our children will never be safe as long as Henri lives, _I realize. "This isn't about revenge," I explain. "This is about France. This is about France and Scotland and our family! Do you honestly believe that our countries are safe as long as Henri sits the French throne? He's been fixated on England for months, even before our wedding! It's only a matter of time before he does something that will put our countries at risk. Scotland is already vulnerable because he forced me to declare myself for England."

"I'm not convinced, Mary. There must be some part of him that is still good!" my husband insists. "I need to get through to him. I need to reason with him and get him to stop this conquest of his. He's going on a hunting trip tonight—I'm going with him."

"Whatever it is you're going to do, do it quickly," I urge him. "We don't have much time." Francis's eyes flash with defiance and disgust as he finds my eyes.

"I'll make him see reason," Francis vows. "_Nobody _is killing anyone." Without another word, he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I jump slightly, and Catherine heaves a sigh before turning to me.

"You and I both know there is no reaching Henri," she says gravely. "Francis puts himself at risk just by being near him. By all rights, I shouldn't even let him join the hunting trip…but he needs to see for himself how far gone Henri really is. I just pray that Henri won't hurt him."

"He murdered Bash. If he was willing to kill one son…oh god." I trail off, my eyes widening in horror. Tears burn in my eyes and I press a hand to my mouth as tears spill over down my cheeks. "Oh god, Catherine…"

"Henri's madness will only get worse," continues Catherine, "and it's only a matter of time before he hurts someone else. You, Francis…me. I will not have any more blood spilled. I can't risk it, and neither can you. We have to kill him. Tonight."

"What about Francis?" I challenge. "I promised him that he would have time! I would be lying to him! I would be defying my husband, killing his father!"

"_My husband_," she says sharply, "the man, despite everything he's done to me, whom I love. The moment he dies, my crown goes to you and Francis becomes king. I can't think of myself, Mary. It's not just Francis who is in danger: it's France, Scotland, the Auld Alliance."

"How would we even kill him?" I demand.

"Every night, he goes to take a private mass. Communion," she explains. "Just him, a priest, and the Almighty God. No tasters, which means no witnesses for when we spike his drink with poison. We only have one chance. If we succeed, I will become a widow and you will become Queen of France. Our chance is now; we have a couple of hours until they leave the castle."

"Francis will never forgive us if this works," I say.

"Let him hate us if he will, Mary," Catherine muses. "It's better if he lives to hate us rather than die loving us. I will not live to see my husband murder my son. That is a chance I refuse to take. It's better that Francis is not involved in this murder; he's been through too much already. Tell me and tell me true, if this worked and Henri died, could you live with it? Could you live with yourself knowing that you killed your husband's father, your own father-in-law? Your silence speaks more than your words. I presume you haven't shed blood yet in your reign?"

"No, I haven't," I answer crisply. "I haven't had anyone's blood on my hands. After tonight, that may or may not change."

"You're a queen, Mary Stuart," the Queen of France reminds me. "This might be the first time you will take a life, but I can promise you, it won't be the last."

And that is what scares me the most.

* * *

I pace the length of my rooms, twisting my hands together, waiting. I have just slipped in a small dose of poison in Henri's wine during his mass; it is only a matter of time before I know whether or not I am a murderer. _Whether or not I have betrayed my husband. _Any minute now, the bells will begin to ring. Any minute now, I will know if Henri is dead. Any minute now, Francis and I could become the King and Queen of France. The thought sends a jolt of fear through me; I've always known that we would eventually reign together over France, but I never imagined for it to happen like this. I never imagined that Henri's death would be a murder at my hands.

"_What the hell, Mary_?" Francis demands, barging in the room. "You promised me that you would give me some time to talk with my father, but only hours before we're about to depart, _he collapses from poison while he's praying_! I just got back from Nostradamus's ward; he says that Father got lucky this time because he was able to make him an antidote. Your plan failed."

"Francis, Henri had to be stopped!" I exclaim. "It wasn't an easy decision to make, but I thought it was the only way!"

"I know what you thought, Mary," he snaps, taking several steps forward, "but you agreed to wait! You _lied _to me!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Sorry for what?" he barks. "You don't regret it! We both know you'd do it again! When you told me that you didn't want to stake your claim to England all those months ago, I stood by you! When I told you what I wanted, I thought you stood by me as well!" His voice gradually rises until he is shouting at me. I meet his stare unflinchingly. "_Instead, you worked with my mother to murder the King of France_!"

"We wanted to spare you," I begin quietly, slowly pacing towards him. "I didn't want you to carry that burden for the rest of your life! _I did what you couldn't do, Francis_." My own anger seeps into my voice as I continue; Francis's eyes are ablaze with fury, challenging me, daring me. I meet his challenge willingly; the fireplace sparks, the flames rising to meet our ire. "I did it for France," I continue, "for the nation you have always and will always put before all else, _including me, _because that is what rulers do!"

"_What the fuck is wrong with you?" _my husband yells. He grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me. "_He is my father_!" I slam my palms into his chest, shoving him away from me. He staggers backward and we stare at each other for several long moments, the air simmering with the tension and rage between us. The only sounds in the room are our breathing and the crackling of the fireplace. Francis takes a breath before he speaks again. "Who are you becoming, Mary? There are risks that you take for the people you love. You used to know that."

"This is a risk I will not take, Francis. I will not risk more innocent bloodshed," I counter. "Why are you even defending Henri, after everything that he's done? He forced me to declare myself for England, he killed Bash on a whim—"

"_He's my father, Mary_! He was a good man and a good king before he became obsessed with England! I refuse to believe that the man who is my father is gone. I can't, okay? I know he can't rule anymore, but he does not need to die! Why can't you and my mother understand that?"

"You really don't see it, do you?" I say dubiously. "Dammit, Francis! You're in denial! You're in denial that your father is _gone_, that he's a monster! You're in denial that he would willingly kill your brother to punish you! Your father is gone. The man he is now is a man who doesn't care who he kills or what he does! You can't reason with him because there is no reasoning!"

"I am not in denial!" he shouts. "You don't think I don't know what he's done? You don't think that it hurt to lose my brother? You don't think that I completely resent my father for killing him? Because I do! I resent him, but there is absolutely no way that my father is lost. I can bring him back—"

"Francis—"

"Mary, it's possible!" he insists desperately. "There's a chance. He doesn't have to die. I'm not in denial, but there is no way that we are going to kill my father." He gives a brief shake of his head before nodding in affirmation. "Please, give me another chance to get through to him. He'll wake up soon; when he does, I can talk to him."

"Francis—"

"Don't make me regret trusting you again."


	19. Understanding

Three days. That is how long it takes until Henri finally awakens. Francis is still furious with me, I know; he hardly speaks a word to me as he sits at his father's side in Nostradamus's healing chambers. I know I should feel guilty for lying to my husband and betraying my word, but I don't. His father is gone; all that's left is a monster—and I don't know what will convince him of this reality. _Losing his brother was a major blow, _I remember. _I don't know what he would do if he lost someone else. _I harbor no regrets about attempting to poison Henri; I know I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant protecting my husband.

"Nostradamus says that he needs to rest a while before hunting," Francis tells me, not meeting my eyes. "He'll be okay, but whatever poison you used, it'll take a few days before he fully recovers. I know you think I'm in denial over the situation, Mary, but I'm not."

"Francis…"

"I know his reign has to end. I know that," he goes on, "but he doesn't have to die. If he is in fact mad, we can lock him up. Killing him has to be a last resort. I don't want you or my mother going behind my back and doing this kind of thing ever again, do you understand me?"

"I can't promise that," I say slowly. "I'm sorry, but—"

"Save your apologies, Mary," my husband snaps, rising to his feet and turning to me. "I don't want to hear it. Are you and Mother going to try again to kill him and go back again on your word like you did before?"

"No. No, Francis, we aren't," I answer. I can breathe easier, knowing that this is not a lie. It is fruitless for him to try to talk with Henri, but I will give him another chance. I don't know what I'll do afterwards, but I can't promise him that Henri will be spared. "Do what you will once he wakes up, but I can't promise you anything. I don't want to make any promises to you that I can't keep."

"Thank you for your honesty," says Francis. "I'll get through to him. I'm trusting you not to try anything else, so now it's your turn to trust me."

"I'll give you this chance," I tell him, "but I don't know what will come afterward. Be careful, okay?"

"I'm going to be fine, Mary," replies my husband offhandedly. He is about to say more when Henri stirs, his eyes opening. "You should go," he suggests. "I want to talk with my father alone."

"Of course, of course!" I say, nodding in understanding. "I'll leave you two alone." I leave the rooms, closing the door behind me, my heart plummeting in my chest. I briskly make my way to Catherine's apartments; when she sees me, she rises from her desk. Her eyes are wide with apprehension.

"You're sure that giving Francis another chance was wise, Mary?" she questions. "I do hope you know that whatever happens to him—_if_ anything should happen to him—is on your hands."

"I know that, Catherine," I tell her. "Believe me, I do." I shake my head. "So, what now? Henri is still a threat, even if he is down for the count at the moment."

"We need to keep our heads down," says Catherine sharply. "If anything, Henri will start looking to find out who just tried to poison him. Should he suspect us, there is no way he won't believe that Francis wasn't in on it."

"We won't have another chance to—"

"We'll find another way, Mary," she assures me. "Right now, Francis's safety is of utmost importance. Should we be accused and charged with attempted regicide, we will _not _drag him down with us. He will have no part in this conspiracy."

"No, he will not," I agree. "Henri's awake, and Francis is talking with him even as we speak. The hunting trip has been delayed until he's fully recovered…which buys us some time. Let's say that Henri does manage to find out that we tried to kill him. What then?"

"I would rather die than give Henri the satisfaction of executing me." Catherine makes her way to her desk before opening the top drawer. She brandishes a pistol, loading it with ammunition. Horror rises within me as I realize what she's saying. _Oh my god. _

"A suicide pact?" I exclaim. "Catherine—"

"_We will die either way, Mary_!" she shouts. "Do you think Henri will be merciful should he discover what we did?"

"I can't agree to this!" I shoot back. "I won't! I can't agree to put my husband through this, even if it doesn't come down to it." I shake my head in disgust. "Jesus Christ, Catherine, do you even know what it is you're asking of me?"

"This is no easier on me than it is on you," Catherine confesses, "but you know how mad and unpredictable Henri has become. I won't let myself become another one of his victims, like Sebastian and those whores he's killed in his bed." She gives me the gun, and I reluctantly reach for it. _Just one shot, and it would be over. _"Will you agree to this, Mary?"

"I…uh…." The door creaks open and I whirl around to see Francis standing in the doorway. The gun falls from my hands and onto the floor. He looks at me, then to Catherine, before down at the gun lying on the floor. His eyes flash with anger and hurt before he storms out of the room wordlessly. I chase after him, shouting his name. "Francis! _Francis_! Please, just let me explain!"

"Explain what?" he demands, turning to face me. "How you and my mother are forming some kind of suicide pact? What the hell, Mary? _Why the hell would you even do something like that_?" My husband's voice gradually rises to a shout. "_What else are you planning on doing? Killing my father even when his sanity has returned?_"

"Francis, please—"

"_You gave me your word that you and my mother would not go behind my back again_!" my husband yells, "but instead, you don't plot to kill my father, but to _commit suicide_!" Raw pain and anger shine in his eyes. "_What the fuck, Mary_?" I follow him to our quarters, closing the door behind us.

"Do you want to know why we even made the deal, Francis?" I retort. "Do you want to know why it was proposed? _Your mother wanted to spare you from being forced to watch our executions if Henri ever found out what we did!_"

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" cries Francis.

"_Yes_!" I shout. "Francis, just listen to me! I would do _anything_ for you! So would your mother! I tried running away after I learned about Nostradamus's prophecy of your death, for god's sake! Do you think that this is easy for me, Francis? Do you think I wanted to—_planned to_—make that agreement with Catherine? But I did it anyways, and do you want to know why? _Because I love you!_" The room falls silent as we stare at each other. I'm hardly aware of the fact that my hands are shaking. Francis steps forward, clutching my face in his hands as he kisses me hungrily. I reciprocate his kiss, throwing my arms around him, sighing into his mouth. He reaches for my jeans, tugging at the snap. I help him pull his shirt off and over his head before his hands roam my body, reaching under my shirt to fondle my breasts. My husband drops to his knees, kissing my chest and pulling my jeans down to the floor. He trails searing kisses from my chest as I entangle my fingers in his hair. I shudder and moan as he buries his head between my legs, ravishing me, his tongue teasing and lapping at my clit. His fingers hook into my panties, pulling them down my legs slowly, to join my jeans. I quickly step out of them and I tilt my head back, arching my spine, as the first orgasm hits.

"_OH, Francis!" _I moan. "Francis…" Searing hot pleasure surges from my core; my legs feel weak, threatening to buckle. My husband inches my shirt up and I raise my arms as it comes over my head before falling to the floor. He closes the distance between us, our lips colliding in a heated frenzy. I reach behind me, undoing the snaps on my bra, and I shrug it off, letting it join our heap of discarded clothes on the floor. I gasp in surprise as Francis grabs me by the waist and turns me around, pressing my body to his. His lips trail down my back tantalizingly and slowly, his teeth scraping my skin and leaving me breathless. One hand wraps itself around my waist, the other sliding between my legs to find my wetness. A wordless moan escapes me as his two fingers penetrate me.

"You're wet for me," he whispers in my ear, "just the way I like you."

"Are you going to punish me now?" My voice is small, but breathless. God, I want this. I want Francis. I want my husband, my Dominant husband. I want him inside me. I want all of him.

"Yes, I am," Francis says. He nips at my earlobe playfully before releasing me. I turn around to face him as he slowly advances toward me. I take several steps backward before I feel the mattress against the back of my legs. I sit down on the bed, reclining and inching back onto the bed. Francis crawls above me, his mouth claiming mine. I urge him lower; his kiss finds my breasts and the space between them and my stomach. "I want you to beg for it," he growls between kisses.

"You're not going to hear me beg, Francis," I say assertively. He smirks at me before he seeks out my secret spot once again, ravishing me. The sensation of his loving me with his tongue is all too familiar, yet utterly overwhelming and unrelenting. His hands roam my breasts, the air electric between us. The fireplace sparks and crackles, the only other sound filling the room with my sighs and moans. I wrap my legs around his head as I grip the sheets, clenching my teeth. The pleasure is as sweet as it is painful; I shudder and writhe under my husband and I beg. "Oh my…oh! Francis…Francis, please, please, please, _yes_! _Oh, oh, OH_!"

Francis looks up towards me. "Spread your legs, Mary," he commands. I ease my legs apart, watching as he undoes his jeans and throws them to the floor, removing his last layer of clothing. His eyes trail up and down my body suggestively; I can only imagine what kind of sexual fantasies are going through his head right now. Francis plunges into me in one swift stroke and I cry out, screaming my pleasure. I reach for him, my fingers forming knots in his curls as he silences me with a hard kiss. My hands slide from his hair down to his cheeks, holding his face in my hands. Francis pulls his mouth away from mine and I whimper in dissatisfaction at the loss of contact before his mouth possesses my skin in hot open-mouthed kisses at my neck, biting and sucking at me. He moves down to my breasts to ravish them in the same way and I squirm against him, struggling for breath. I interweave my fingers in his hair, holding him to me as he continues to move down my body.

"Francis, Francis, please!" I cry. "Yes, yes, there! There! Oh, you feel so good…_oh_!" My husband's tongue runs along my slit in one, long, slow movement; I tremble against him, my legs shaking. Up and down, side to side, swirling to my folds and back again to my clit—over and over again. I bring a hand to my brow, a broken sigh escaping me, as his tongue delves in and out of my center. My body screams for release and I orgasm, fucking myself against my husband's mouth as I scream in rapture. Francis kisses his way back up to my lips, biting and sucking at my thighs, my chest, and my breasts. I grind my hips against him, my breasts pressed against Francis's chest, our tempo slowly picking up speed as he fills me with himself. I slowly run my leg over his side before I come up to straddle his waist, wrapping my legs around his waist.

"_Mary_," my husband groans. "Fuck, Mary…" He brushes my hair out of my face, his eyes feverish with passion. I've near forgotten why we were fighting prior to our lovemaking, I realize. I run a hand through his lush, golden curls, gasping for breath, before I kiss him deeply. I push him down onto his back, clawing at his bare chest with my fingernails, as I slowly rock back and forth on him. A tempo builds between us—erotic and carnal, slow and steady, yet gradually picking up speed. Francis reaches for me and I take his hands in mine, placing them on my waist as I ride him. He holds my waist and I lift slightly off him, reaching a hand between my legs to find my clit as I knead my knuckles over it. I shudder, a moan falling from my lips. Francis leans his head back upon the pillow, closing his eyes, as I take us to paradise.

"Oh, Mary," he groans. I smile at him, still grinding against him, when all of a sudden he reaches forward and rolls so I'm underneath him, plunging in and out of me at the same time. I pull at his hair as I orgasm, screaming in pleasure. I kiss his shoulder, planting small kisses down the length of his arm, holding onto him. I relinquish my grip on his hair, letting my hands fall to his cheeks. We stare into each other's eyes, trying to catch our breath. Francis strokes my face, his thumb brushing over my lips.

"I love you," I breathe.

"I love you too," murmurs Francis. His mouth covers mine instantly, just as insistent as before. I run my hands over his bare chest, the hardness of his muscles smooth under my palms. I moan as he begins to kiss my neck, wrapping my arms around his back. He drives himself into me, his thrusts deep and hard, pushing me to my very limits as he makes love to me. His lovemaking is as vigorous as ever and afterwards, we rest in each other's arms, tangled in the sheets. He strokes the small of my back, smoothing my hair wet with perspiration.

"You know I would never leave you unless I thought there was no other way," I murmur. "You do know that, don't you?"

"Mary, love, you didn't have to do it," he says quietly. "I talked with my father and I think his sanity has returned."

"What?" Surprised, I prop myself up onto one elbow, caressing his chest. "What're you talking about?"

"Father's absolutely ridden with guilt over what he's done," my husband continues. He sighs. "I honestly don't know if I can forgive him for Bash's death. I know he wasn't himself when he killed him, but…"

"Francis, you are a good man and a wonderful husband," I begin. "You shouldn't forgive him, if you forgive him at all, just because he's your father. I don't presume to know what things were like with him before I came back to court, but do what you feel is right. Not right for him, but right for you." I stroke his face as I speak. I can only pray that my eyes don't give way to my true feelings; I can't trust Francis's word that Henri's sanity is now returned. The threat still lingers—I don't want to imagine what he would do if he ever found out my and Catherine's roles in his poisoning. My mind wanders to the pact we made and nausea comes over me. _Please, let it never come to it coming to fruition, _I pray desperately. _Please, please, please. _I don't know if I could ever bring myself to pull that trigger, to leave my husband like that.

"He's postponed the hunting trip for a while," he informs me, "because he has some matters to see to here in France before he makes any further decisions about England."

"What kind of matters?" I ask warily. "If he finds out—"

"He won't," Francis assures me. "He won't find out. I'll do what I can to protect you and my mother. I wish I could say I trusted him, but I can't. I can't take the risk of losing anyone else. Not you, not my mother…"

I lean forward, kissing him softly. "You're not going to lose me. I promise." He deepens the kiss and makes love to me once more.

* * *

The next few weeks pass by serenely. Henri is strangely tranquil, but I remain cautious around him, as does Francis and Catherine. My husband and I do our duties as dauphin and dauphine of France, but it isn't until the breaking of dawn that it finally hits me. I hurry to my rooms, rummaging my purse. My hands are trembling as they fumble around the inside until I finally find it. I try to steady my breathing as I head into the bathroom. I read the instructions before I follow them; afterwards, I place the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter. My heart races in my chest as I wait for a red bar to appear. It's been almost four weeks; I've missed my period, my breasts have been tender, and my cravings are surprisingly potent—not to mention my sexual appetite.

_How many times has Francis made love to you ever since the wedding? _I ask myself. I've honestly lost track of the frequency of our lovemaking. For months, we've been trying for a baby with almost no results. Why should this time be any different? _I'm his queen. It's my duty to give him sons—heirs to the Valois throne. _I'm all too familiar with this aspect of being the future queen of France. I am the foot holder of the Valois dynasty, as Francis's queen; if I don't give him any sons, the line will end with him. _Please, please, please be positive! _I pray. We could both do with a miracle, what with all that has happened.

It seems that God has answered my prayers, for two red lines appear on the screen.


	20. Toolmaker

**Reader discretion advised: This chapter features depictions of physical abuse. Read at your own risk. **

* * *

_I'm pregnant. _I take a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart, as I reach for my pregnancy test. Two red bars mark the screen, announcing the truth to me. _I'm pregnant with Francis's child._ I place a hand over my stomach, rubbing gently. A little prince—or princess—grows and flourishes in my womb. Elation fills me, springing from the core of my being like a fountain and a smile spreads across my face. Tears well in my eyes and I press a mouth to my hand to stifle what comes out as a sob mingled with laughter. I'm overcome with joy, but I am unable to stop my fear from choking me.

_If Henri should ever find out what I've done… _I can't bring myself to finish my thought. I can't fulfill my part of the pact. I won't. _I will not kill this child inside me. _I run a hand through my hair, my breaths coming in quick. As long as Henri lives, my baby isn't safe. _Nobody _is safe. Francis, Catherine, myself—everyone at court—are in danger. I shake my head furiously and I grab my pregnancy test, hurrying out of the room and stuffing it in my purse. The summer air is sultry, making the room feel hotter than it really is. I return to the bathroom, taking off my clothes, before climbing in the shower and turning on the water. The cool water seeps between my fingers, running over my bare body.

_Breathe, Mary. Just breathe, _I remind myself. My emotions are scattered; I'm thrilled that I'm carrying Francis's child, terrified for not only my safety but for that of our baby. Every part of me wants to tell Francis the news. I want—I should—tell my husband that I carry his child, but I'm afraid. Not that he will reject the baby, but for our safety from Henri. _Is lying to your husband the right thing? _my conscious hisses in the corner of my mind. _He loves you and would do anything for you. _

Strong arms wrap around my waist, molding me to a firm, muscular body and lips find my neck, kissing and biting gently. I don't need to guess who it is as I turn around slowly to face my husband. I lay my palm on his cheek and Francis covers my hand in his before tilting his head to the side, planting a kiss on the inside of my hand. His eyes are filled with tender adoration as he stares into my eyes. No words need to be spoken between us. I take his hand slowly, placing it on my abdomen. My heart hammers in my chest; I can only hope that my fear doesn't show in my eyes.

"I'm pregnant," I say softly. "I'm having our child, Francis." Francis's eyes widen in delight, his face breaking out into a beam. He pulls me close, crushing my lips to his. I wrap my arms around him, my mouth widening under his, seeking his touch. My body is molded to my husband's, my breasts pressed hard against his smooth, firm chest. I don't even remember how we make it to the bed; the world falls away as we make love. Francis murmurs words of love in my ear, kissing every part of my body. His lips find my chest where our child thrives before peppering kisses on my center, making love to me with his tongue. Intense pleasure cuts through me like a knife, its kiss painfully sweet, driving me over the edge. My hips rock against my husband as he plants adorning kisses back across my body. I'm unable to stop another scream as he enters me once again, thrusting as he bites my lower lip, pulling gently.

"I don't think I've ever been this happy my entire life!" Francis pants breathlessly. I can't help myself as I laugh in my elation, and his own laughter joins mine before he silences me with another kiss. He buries his face in my neck, kissing and sucking at my flesh. I slide my arms around him, my fingers digging into his hair, moaning in content, digging my soles of my feet into the back of his thighs. His thrusts are slow and steady yet powerful, our sighs, moans and raps mixing together in an erotic soundtrack. I shudder in pleasure, my body writhing beneath my husband's, and I bite his shoulder, trying to keep myself from screaming. My hips jerk and spasm as I completely unravel before him, shaking as my muscles clench and contract, riding out my orgasm, when all of a sudden—

"Good morning!" Catherine exclaims. "How is the happy trinity?" I shriek, startled, and Francis jumps out of his skin and scrambles off me, his cock sliding out from inside me. My body tingles from our lovemaking, but is tense from the sudden interruption of my release.

"No, don't come in!" he calls over to her. I hastily reach for the sheets and pull them over my breasts, unable to stop the blood from rushing to my cheeks. Catherine eagerly approaches us, beaming. My husband squirms behind me as she sits down upon the bed.

"Father, mother, unborn son!" she continues jubilantly. "Oh, I'm hoping for a son!" She waves her hand dismissively. "Plenty of time for daughters later!"

I raise myself onto one elbow, staring at my mother-in-law in absolute bewilderment. "How could you _possibly _know?" I demand. "I only just found out hours ago!" I know I shouldn't be surprised by Catherine's knowledge, but I am. It just doesn't add up how she knows that I'm pregnant when I have only just told my husband.

"I'm familiar with the condition and I've had my eye on you," she explains nonchalantly. "A little queasiness her and there, strong cravings? Also, a few weeks ago I had your urine tested. _And _earlier today, one of my ladies spotted you making a run to the pharmacy without any preamble."

"You've been having your spies follow me? And Francis, too?"

"I was being discreet, Mary!" insists Catherine. "I was waiting for you to be the one to tell Francis!" She chuckles in her amusement.

"Uh, Mother, I thought we might keep it a secret for now?" suggests Francis. "Because of Father and how he's trying to find you and Mary, even if he doesn't know it yet…" He trails off, letting us fill in the blanks.

"Yes, yes! Of course!" she agrees. "For the child's safety—but enough doom and gloom!" She claps her hands once. "_Enter_!" In no way am I prepared for what walks through the door. The kitchen staff enters the room, a large tray in hand with what might as well be a full, four-course meal. Salads, meats, breads with exotic garlics and peppers, a foreign pasta dish that looks both French and Italian…

I glance over my shoulder towards Francis. "Tell me again how happy you are," I say dryly.

"I don't think I've ever been this—" He breaks off laughing and I choke on my own laughter for a few moments before he hushes me with a kiss.

"Catherine, you didn't have to do all of this—" I begin.

"Your figure is going to go to hell anyway, Mary, so eat up!" Catherine cuts me off. "You're feeding the future king of France!" She turns towards the cooks. "Two glasses of wine, please. We can't have the mother of the future king drinking, now can we?" Two glasses are filled with red wine; one is given to Francis, the other to Catherine. "I'd like to propose a toast. To Mary and Francis and my grandchild!" She and Francis touch glasses before downing their wine.

"I'm expecting that a party's going to be held?" my husband guesses, placing his glass on the bedside table.

"Yes!" she confirms. "Henri won't know why, though, because this pregnancy stays between the three of us until the time is right because although you, Mary, have quite some time before you start to show, I want to make sure it's safe for him—and the world—to know." I can sense the elephant in the room—the suicide pact Catherine and I have formed—but we all go on, pretending that it doesn't hang over the three of us.

"Mother, next time, can you please take care to…uh, knock before you come in?" Francis asks. One glance tells me that his face is just as beet red as mine. _Nothing like having your own mother walking in on you! _I laugh to myself at the thought as one of the cooks brings the tray of food over to us. I prop myself upright, wrapping the sheet around myself as the tray is set in my lap.

"I didn't even need to knock, Francis," says Catherine casually, "although, honestly, even just passing by your room is like listening to the radio without volume control. Now, I have some business to take care of—and Mary, you have a baby to feed, so chop-chop! Oh, and Francis, Claude is picking up a flight to France even as we speak. She was ecstatic when I told her that you're going to be a father! Anyways, I'm going to leave you two alone." She climbs off the bed, making for the door, and the cooks begin to clear out of the room.

"That was quite something!" I laugh. "This _breakfast _is quite something as well!"

"Expect my mother to me fretting over you like a mother hen, Mary," my husband chuckles, moving the tray over to our bedside table. "Our baby hasn't even been born and she's already in love." He reaches for me, tangling his hand through my hair. His hand lowers to my breast, squeezing gently, before it reaches my belly. His eyes are soft as they search the depths of mine. "I love you, Mary, and I love that you're the mother of our baby," he whispers.

"I love you too," I say softly. Francis pulls me into his arms, climbing atop of me, his mouth claiming mine.

* * *

The ballroom is packed, all of court abuzz, as Francis and I enter. I am dressed in an elegant red dress of lace and satin, complimenting my ruby engagement ring. My husband takes me by the hand, leading me out to the dance floor. In the distance, I can feel Henri's eyes on me. His face is unreadable, and at the same time, a pit forms in my stomach. The same feeling I had mere moments before he murdered Bash right in front of my and Francis's eyes, I can't help but remember. I shake my head, breathing deeply, as we slowly sway back and forth to the music. Catherine is nowhere to be seen.

"Is everything all right, Mary?" my husband asks under his breath. I remain silent; I don't want to ruin his happiness over my pregnancy. I don't want to ruin this for him. For us. This baby is the first good thing to happen to us since Bash's death and I don't want to lose these moments of happiness. I want to hold onto them for as long as I can.

"I'm fine," I lie quickly, forcing a smile. "It's nothing." I lean forward, kissing him gently. I rest my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes for a few moments. Francis holds me close, cradling the back of my head and kissing my temple.

"You're more beautiful than ever," he whispers, pulling back so he can look into my eyes. "A common effect, I've heard, when a woman is with child…but you are uncommonly desirable."

"Until I balloon to the size of a horse," I joke and we both laugh. Francis kisses me deeply, breaking our kiss several long moments later. I caress his face with my fingertips, kissing him again.

"Mary, Francis!" Henri's voice interrupts us and we spring apart like the guilty lovers we are. His smile is cold and placid, his eyes hard. "I was wondering when I'd be able to have a moment to speak with you."

"Of course, Your Grace," I say curtly. Instinctively, I reach for Francis's hand, squeezing. He returns the pressure reassuringly. I compose my face, hoping that it doesn't give way to my fears. "What's on your mind?"

"I know who tried to kill me." The words are sharp and blunt knives, stabbing at my terrors. I have to restrain myself from protectively covering my belly with my hand, as if to shield my child from Henri's wrath. "And I promise you, I have no mercy for them."

"Where is Catherine?" I dare myself to ask. Francis tenses beside me. The air seems to pulse around us with tension and I'm unable to breathe, for the room seems to have become hotter all of a sudden. "I haven't seen her at all since the party began." I keep my tone air and light, casual and conversational, masking my trepidation. Has Henri reached her? Or has she gone through with her part of our pact? I don't know which possibility is worse. I know I can't fulfill my part of the bargain, not anymore. Now that I'm pregnant, I know I won't be able to bring myself to end it. If I die, my child dies with me and I can't do that. I won't.

"She's enjoying a glass of red wine in her rooms, Mary," answers Henri. Francis and I exchange a glance of worry. My husband's expression is written in fear and I give him the smallest of nods. _Go to her! _He takes off running, and I start to follow, but Henri grabs my arm, his nails digging into my skin as he violently jerks me backwards.

"Let go of me!" I snarl.

"You don't think I know that it was you and Catherine who tried to poison me?" he growls. "I know all of the poisons my loving wife uses and I know that it was you who spiked my wine." He drags me out of the ballroom and into the vacant hallway.

"What are you doing to do to me?" I challenge. "Execute me?" Henri's palm lashes out, cutting me across the jaw and sends me sprawling to the floor. I lay a hand to my chest, trying to protect my baby.

"Oh, I will kill you!" he roars. "_I'm going to kill you and Catherine and Francis_!" He advances towards me, his hands gripping at my throat. Against my bidding, memories of Tomas surface from the back of my mind. Fragments pierce my mind like knives, piercing and cutting at me. Tomas bashing my head into the mirror, Tomas choking me, Tomas beating me… A bloodcurdling scream echoes throughout the hall, but I don't remember screaming. Henri backhands me across the face as he pins me to the wall, inhaling my scent as he smells my hair. Revulsion and terror and hatred rise within me all at once. _This man is going to kill me. _

"_My baby_!" I scream through my tears. Henri relinquishes his grip on my throat and I collapse to the floor, massaging my throat.

"Don't think that being pregnant with my son's whelp is going to save you," he hisses in my ear, "because I'm coming for all of you." I clamber to my feet, running for Catherine's apartments. The whole way there, I can feel Henri's murderous stare following me. I push open the doors and I stop dead in my tracks at what I find. Francis is on his knees, sobbing, as he cradles Catherine's lifeless body in a pool of blood. Her gun rests on the floor and blood oozes out of her stomach. Around her neck is a crimson necklace of marks that I know are from Henri's hands. Bruises and cuts adorn her body and her hair is matted with blood.

"Oh my god," I breathe.

"_She's not breathing_!" my husband cries. "I just found her like this and—" I whip out my cell phone, dialing 911. This isn't real, none of this can be happening. Catherine can't be dead. For Francis's sake, I desperately pray that she'll survive. _He's already lost his brother to Henri. He can't lose his mother too. _

"I need an ambulance for the Louvre," I say quickly. "It's the queen. Please, hurry! She's not breathing!" I kill the connection, pocketing my phone, before rushing over to Francis's side.

"My father did this," he says in horror, meeting my eyes. He reaches for me, his hand gently brushing my cheek where Henri slapped me and my bruised neck. "He's hurt both of you."

"He knows what we did, Francis," I murmur, "and he's going to kill us all." I gather him into my arms, letting him sob into my shoulder. When the paramedics finally arrive, Catherine is placed on a stretcher and hauled away into the ambulance outside the palace. Francis and I follow, climbing into the ambulance, and all we can do is hope.

* * *

We sit in the lobby, waiting, as Catherine is rolled away to the CC. Francis is silent, tears streaking from the corners of his eyes. I rub small circles into his back, covering his hand in mine. His breathing comes in short and quick as he struggles to compose himself.

"I can't lose anyone else," he whispers brokenly. "I can't do it, Mary. God, why does everyone have to die on me? Am I cursed or something?"

"Your mother's a survivor," I tell him. "She'll pull through this…she has to." My heart aches in my breast. I'm still unable to process any of this. Catherine may or may not be dead, and we're all at risk. Francis, myself, and our unborn baby in my womb. _We were all so happy mere hours ago, _I muse sadly, _and now everything is falling apart. _"Francis, this is all my fault." The words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them. "I'm the one who agreed that Henri had to die, I'm the one who tried to poison him…Catherine is here _because of me_!"

"No, no, no…Mary, please don't blame yourself," my husband begs. "You couldn't have known that this was going to happen. Even if you hadn't agreed…" He breaks off on a sob. "God, you were right about Father. You and Mother…he's lost. He's gone." He shakes his head furiously. "How could I have been so stupid? I could've prevented all of this from happening if' I'd just—" I gather him in my arms as he sobs into the crook of my neck. Tears of my own blur my vision and course from my eyes as we hold each other. The wait is agonizing. With each hour, our fears grow worse. Will Catherine survive? Or has Henri killed her for trying to do what is right for France?

It seems an eternity until one of the doctors approaches us. We pull apart and rise to our feet as we are led to Catherine's room. She lies upon the bed unconscious, the heart monitor beeping slowly. Tubes are in her arms, an oxygen mask over her mouth, and her skin is deathly pale. I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat. "How is she?" I ask.

"Catherine is in critical condition," the doctor explains. "She lost a lot of blood and the bullet collapsed her lung."

"Will she survive?" Francis demands.

"We put her through surgery to try to remove the bullet," she continues, "but we weren't able to stop the bleeding…internal and external. We were able to take the bullet out, but…" She sighs. "I'm sorry. She doesn't have much time left. She won't make it through the day." Without another word, she takes leave of us. Francis shakes his head frantically.

"No, no, no, no, no…this can't be happening," he chokes. "Mary…" I'm at a loss for words, just as shocked and horrified as he is. I take his hand, leading him into the room, and we sit at Catherine's side. Francis takes his mother's white hand in his, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. I don't know how much time passes, but suddenly, Catherine stirs. Her eyes slowly open as she turns her head towards me and Francis. She smiles sadly, clutching her son's hand.

"Francis," she murmurs. "I'm sorry…I thought I was protecting you. You and your unborn child. I wouldn't let Henri touch you."

"Mother, please…please don't go," pleads Francis. "I can't do this without you. I need you!" His voice breaks on a ragged sob. "You'll pull through this, okay? You'll pull through and you'll get to see your grandchildren and great grandchildren. _Please._"

"My beautiful baby boy," his mother says quietly. "I still remember the day I brought you into this world. You were so beautiful and small in my arms…I'm glad you'll get to experience that with Mary. I want you to be happy, Francis. Live your life." I glance at the monitor; the spikes are coming more slowly now. Catherine's voice is just above a whisper, almost sleepy, and she struggles to keep her eyes open. "Mary, I need you to promise me something before I go," she tells me. "Look after Francis for me, will you? He's going to need you after I'm gone…you and the baby will be all he has left. Promise me."

I nod in understanding, hastily wiping away my tears although I don't remember starting to cry. "I promise," I whisper. Catherine's breathing has alarmingly slowed, her eyes starting to close. Francis's face is wet with tears; he holds onto his mother's hand as though he could will her to survive.

"My baby boy…," she breathes. And then, the monitor starts ringing. A flat line shows itself on the screen.

"Nonononononononono!" Francis cries. "Mother? Mother! _Mother, wake up_! Please, Mama….please don't leave me, _please_! _Mama_!" He is shouting and sobbing now as the doctors and nurses rush into the room. We are ushered out of the room; everything afterwards is a blur. There is nothing we can do but watch hopelessly as the doctors try to revive her. I'm hardly aware of the fact that I'm crying as I hold Francis in my arms, letting him weep into my shoulder.

"Catherine de Medici. Time of death: 10:30PM."

* * *

I don't even remember the drive back the palace or returning to our quarters. Everything is dreamlike, surreal. The castle is eerily quiet—the same quiet it was after Bash's murder. _This castle is haunted, _I think to myself. _The ghosts of those we've loved haunt us yet. _Bash, and now Catherine. How many other people are going to die? How many more people will Francis lose? A stray tear creeps down my cheek as I close the door behind us.

"Francis," I begin. "I am so sorry—" I approach him, taking his face in my hands. I wipe away some tears with my thumb, our eyes connecting. Francis's azure eyes are filled with anguish and raw grief, brimming with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," I say quietly. Something flickers in his eyes before he presses my body to his, kissing me hungrily. Our kisses are savage, desperate for more, desperate for the comfort we seek from one another. We make fierce love, biting and clawing at each other, our naked bodies coming together as one. Fiery pleasure sparks within me, spreading its flames throughout my body, and I scream in orgasm. I don't know how long we make love, but we make love until we fall asleep in each other's arms, wrapped in one another and twisted in the sheets. The next morning, the mourning bells sing their sad song. And it is then that I hear it: "_The king is dead! Long live the king! The king is dead! Long live the king_!"

Henri is dead. Henri and Catherine are dead.

Francis and I are now the King and Queen of France.


	21. Interlude - Home

"_The king is dead! Long live the king_!" the herald cries. The mourning bells toll heavily. I look towards Francis in alarm. _Both of his parents are dead—his mother murdered by his father, and now his father has met his end. _My mind reels; I am now the Queen of France, and Francis my king. I can't even begin to fathom what he's going through as we stare at one another in utter shock.

"I'm so sorry," I say softly, caressing his face. He nods, not meeting my eyes. "Francis, my love…"

"I never wanted it to happen like this," my husband murmurs. "Fearing my own father…hating him at the end." He shakes his head. "When I found my mother lying unconscious in her own blood…and when I saw how he'd hurt you, I just—" The rest of his words die as he stops midsentence, taking a shuddering breath and closing his eyes, fighting back his grief. His throat works as he swallows, struggling to continue. "I can't, Mary. I'm sorry, I just—" He rises from the bed, donning his clothes. "I need some air." I nod mutely, feeling helpless as he walks out of the room with the weight of the world upon his shoulders. My heart clenches in my chest; my husband has lost too much within too short of a time. _His brother, his mother…and now his father. _I climb off the bed, putting on my clothes and brushing my hair out before making my way to Henri's rooms, curious in spite of myself. A part of me is glad that Henri is dead…but at what cost? Bash and Catherine are dead because of him. So many innocents are dead because of him. I cross my arms over my belly, as if to protect my baby from Henri's ghost, as I step through the open doors.

The police and the coroner are there, questioning the servants and maids. Henri's bedsheets are completely soaked in blood; they are covered in red. I approach the bed, gently brushing the sheets with my fingers. The blood is still warm. _Someone murdered Henri in his sleep…just as Nostradamus predicted. _A cold hand runs a finger up my spine at this realization. The possibilities as to who killed him are endless. The nobles here at court have more than enough reason to want Henri dead; who would want to be ruled by a corrupt, mad king? His public murder of Bash made that more than clear. It was only a matter of time before someone did something. I don't know who killed Henri, but a surge of gratitude rushes through me towards them. _It's safe for me to bear my child, _I realize. _I won't have to live in fear of Henri hurting my little prince. _I wrap my arms around myself, a sudden chill coming over me. I hurry out of the room, leaving the authorities to their work.

Everything has changed within the span of a night. I'm pregnant with Francis's child, Catherine and Henri are dead, and now I am the Queen of France. None of it seems real, and yet, it is just as real as the baby growing inside me. I inhale and exhale slowly, trying to slow my racing thoughts. Henri and Catherine's funeral is tonight; they are to be buried before Francis and I are crowned as king and queen, so as to give closure to the end of their reign before the beginning of our reign is celebrated. A new age dawns upon the realm and nobody is prepared, for we are all reeling from Henri and Catherine's deaths. I lean against the wall, pressing my forehead against the concrete, breathing deeply and slowly for several long moments. _Breathe, Mary, just breathe. You're just overwhelmed by everything going on. The dust will settle in time. _

"Your Majesty Queen Mary!" I jump out of my skin, whirling around to face my speaker. He is one of the nobles—but not one I have seen nor met before. I study him briefly; he appears to be in his early 30s. He is clean-shaven with short, cropped black hair, fairly pleasing to the eye for some.

"My lord," I say curtly. "What's the matter?" I rake a hand through my hair, hoping that I appear much calmer than I feel; I am the queen. I need to be the strength of the people when they have none. _You are Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots and France, _I remind myself, _and you are the mother of a king. _

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I should at least give you my name. Call me Stefan. Stefan de Narcisse." He offers me my hand, and I take it. His grip is firm and hard as he shakes my hand once. I meet his cool gaze placidly.

"Narcisse…" I play with the name on my tongue as I rack my memory. His name sounds familiar, but I can't place where. After a moment or two, it comes to me. "I believe I've met your son. Eduard Narcisse?"

"Yes," he confirms, "but I'm not here to talk about my son. I can't be the only one who finds the manner and timing of King Henri's death a little…shall we say, odd?" His tone is casual and colloquial, yet my intuition tells me that he is more than suspicious about Henri's murder. How or why or what, I cannot begin to guess nor do I have the time to play mind games.

"Henri was murdered in his sleep, Narcisse," I say slowly. "That in itself is alarming, yes, but the authorities are doing their job. What are you trying to get at?"

"Watch yourself, Your Majesty," Narcisse advises me. "You just can't trust anyone these days." I'm left standing in the middle of the hallway as he takes his leave of me after giving me a curt bow. I shake my head, running my hands through my hair.

_You're thinking too much, Mary, _I chide myself. _Of course the nobles are asking questions about Henri's death. The king was murdered in his sleep, you said it yourself. The stress of planning both the funeral and your coronation is getting to you. _

I put on a smile, and I do my duty.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Francis," I say quietly. We are in our chambers, dressed and ready to return to Notre Dame for Henri and Catherine's funeral. "You should not have to go through this." I slowly approach him, our eyes connecting with one another. Francis quickly brushes a hand under his eyes, hastily wiping away silent tears.

"I'll be fine, Mary," my husband assures me. "I just have to make it through tonight and everything will be okay." He nods at me, managing a sad smile. "You don't have to worry about me." He chuckles humorlessly. "After all of this is said and done, I can put it all behind me and try to move forward."

"You've been through a lot, my love," I tell him, taking his hands in mine. "Francis, you don't have to try to make sense of it all. To be honest, I still can't believe all that's happened. It's all happened so soon and so quickly…but what matters is that we'll face it—all of it—together." I tear my eyes away, pacing a few steps away from him. "I can feel myself changing, and not for the better," I confess. "Every choice I have made to protect France and Scotland, even you…for all of them there is a reckoning. And it's always the woman who must bow to the queen. I feel like I'm killing part of myself…that I'm ignoring my heart until it becomes blind and deaf."

"Then don't. Don't grow harder." Francis approaches me and I slowly turn back around to face him, my eyes suddenly wet with unshed tears. "Share your burdens," he urges me. "Tell me your darkest truths and I…I will tell you mine." His voice wavers and breaks as he speaks. "So we don't end up married but alone, justifying our sins as acts of survival. If we can forgive each other, perhaps…perhaps we can forgive ourselves." Tears slip down my cheeks against my bidding as Francis's arms engulf me. I hide my face in his shoulder as sobs wrack my body, the shock of the past day's events catching up to me. He runs his hand through the hair on the back of my head, whispering words of comfort to me.

"It's alright," he murmurs. "It's going to be okay, Mary." For several long moments, we simply hold one another, drawing strength from each other. My sobs slow, and I gently pull myself out of Francis's embrace. His eyes are soft, yet filled with agony. Whether it is for my pain or his losses, I can't tell. I reach for him, holding his face between my palms.

"Are you ready for this?" I ask quietly. He silently shakes his head. All we can do is hold each other, for we are all we have.

* * *

The cathedral is almost completely filled when we arrive. Surprisingly, almost all of France has come to pay respects to its last king and queen. Arm in arm, Francis and I take our seats in one of the pews. At the altar are two coffins: one with Henri and one with Catherine. My blood runs cold as my eyes find the caskets and a chill sweeps over me. I glance towards my husband; his hand is tight in mine and his expression is visibly pained but stoic, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. _Too much loss in too short a time, _I think sadly. _Nobody should have to go through this. _Tears of my own burn in my eyes, falling silently down my cheeks and dripping down my chin. Francis squeezes my hand, our gazes locking together. I'm not sure who it is I'm crying for: my husband, who has lost too much? Catherine, who died for nothing? Or for Henri, and the man he used to be? Or even for myself?

_Catherine told you would bring death to the Valois family, _a voice in the back of my mind hisses. _Francis has lost almost his entire family because of you. You should have stayed gone after Catherine told you about the prophecy. _I know I can't leave France, even if I wanted to. I am the Queen of France now, and I have a duty to my country. And I love Francis too much to abandon him, to leave him, as his late brother and parents have. I can't leave him. My thoughts are cut off as the pastor begins to speak of life and love and loss, but I don't pay attention to his words. The ceremony passes almost as though it were a dream. My husband remains resigned, but is visibly losing the battle against his grief. He wipes his hands under his eyes, brushing away tears that come heedlessly and his shoulders tremble with choked, stifled sobs.

Henri and Catherine's burial is a private affair back at the Louvre, with only the court in attendance, as their caskets are lowered into the ground. Francis's fingers are interlocked with mine, holding tightly. I rest my head on his shoulder, rubbing his arm consolingly. I make no effort to conceal my tears as I weep silently, tears running down my cheeks. The minister recites a prayer, blessing Henri and Catherine's souls. I almost laugh at the irony, for Henri's soul does not and will never deserve to be blessed. A man who kills his firstborn son and his wife in cold blood does not deserve to have his transgressions washed away. _Catherine didn't deserve any of this, _I think to myself. _She didn't deserve such a brutal death. _

Long after the ceremony is over and the court dispersed, my husband and I retire to our chambers. A deep silence seems to have filled all the palace; no other sound can be heard other than our breathing. My husband lets out a sigh as he sits down on the bed, but it comes out as more of a sob. He wraps an arm around his chest as if to stifle his grief and he hastily looks down towards his feet, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Francis…" I sit down beside him, enveloping him in my arms, and he buries his face in my shoulder as he breaks into pieces, sobbing brokenly. "Shhh, shhh, my love," I whisper. "It's okay, everything's going to be okay." I kiss his hair, rubbing small circles into his back. "I'm here…I'm here and I'm never letting go, okay?" I hold him tighter and even closer to me, resting my chin atop his head as we hold onto each other, the confinements of our grief binding us together.


	22. Bourbon

**Reader discretion advised: This chapter contains depictions of physical abuse. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

The weeks leading up to our coronation pass by quickly, and yet, it feels as though both nothing and everything has changed at court—and not only because Francis and I are king and queen and because of my pregnancy. My husband has changed; he is no longer as open with me as he once was. He is plagued by nightmares; of what, I cannot begin to guess. Countless nights, I have been startled awake as Francis thrashes about in his sleep, crying out—for whom or for what, I cannot begin to guess—before he wakes up in a cold sweat, screaming in terror. Whenever I have tried to get him to talk to me about it, my questions have been dodged and the subject changed. Things between us have changed since the death of his parents and it scares me.

I try to talk to him again in the morning, as we prepare to see the day out, for today is our coronation day. "Francis," I say, closing the distance between us, "I love you. I need you to know that." He turns around to face me, but he is unable to look me in the eye, visibly tense as he grips the arms of his chair. "I want to support you, as your wife and as your queen. What is going on, Francis? What is bothering you so much that it's giving you these nightmares you've been having? It's been weeks. Stop shutting me out."

"Mary, nothing's going on, okay?" My husband rises to his feet, making for the door. I intercept him, stepping in front of him and blocking the door. "What the hell is your problem?" he demands, outraged. "We have other things to worry about!" He tries to step around me, but I block his path.

"Neither of us are leaving this room until you tell me what's going on! Francis, I'm trying to help you—but it seems that every time I reach out, you just push me away!" I cry. "You've been so distant lately and I'm worried about you! You're acting as though you're haunted by something!"

"I need some peace and quiet," he says curtly, but I don't budge.

"You need to trust me!" I insist. "To share things with me!"

"Has it ever occurred to you that not everything can be solved by talking, by love, by _you_?" Francis retorts. His words lash at me like whips, meant to cut me and make me bleed. We are nose to nose, yelling in each other's faces. The air seems to pulse with tension. "There are things that we cannot change, that can't be undone!"

"_What the hell is that supposed to even mean_?"

"There are things that I don't tell you to protect you!" my husband bellows.

"Protect me from _what_?" I screech. Francis shakes his head, storming away from me. I stare at him, absolutely bewildered.

"I've already said too much," he says tersely.

"Too much?" I echo, whirling around to face him. "Francis, you have said _far too little_!"

"Mary, please—"

"What could possibly endanger me so much that I shouldn't know about it?" I demand. "Jesus Christ, Francis, _I am trying to help you!" _

"Don't—"

"What is this mystery threat that somehow seems to have appeared since you lost your parents that has been plaguing you these past three weeks?" My eyes widen as through my anger and frustration, doubt and fear plant their first seed in my mind. "Something that I can't fix. Something that I can't change. Before she died, Catherine told me that I would bring death and destruction to your family…and ever since I got here, people have been dying. Bash was murdered by your father…and your father killed your mother…" _Oh my god. No, please, no… _"You blame me for their deaths. Do you blame me for the deaths of your brother and your parents?"

"Yes!" my husband yells. "I blame you for their deaths because I have lost far too much over these past few months! Is that what you want to hear? Does it bring us closer to know that you bring death with you, wherever you go? To know that if you hadn't returned to court, they still might be alive? Have I answered you fully?"

_And there it is. _I stagger back several steps, tears blurring my vision, a lump forming in my throat. I sit down on the couch, refusing to meet Francis's eyes. A choked sob escapes my chest, tears sliding from the corners of my eyes.

"Are we done with this relentless interrogation?" he asks bitterly. He approaches me, reaching out, but I slap his hands away, rising to my feet.

"Don't touch me," I hiss.

"Mary, I'm sorry," murmurs Francis. His eyes are soft and pained and filled with regret, but it's too late. "I shouldn't have."

"I asked you for the truth," I say sourly, "and you certainly gave it to me." I'm unable to stop the relentless flow of tears and I angrily brush my knuckle over my eyes, wiping away my tears. "I don't need to hear more."

* * *

There is no avoiding Francis, much to my chagrin. We spend a good portion of the day sitting upon our thrones, listening to the people's petitions, and neither of us are able to look each other in the eye. I put a mask on, the mask of a queen, hiding my hurt and anger towards my husband. My husband occasionally glances towards me, hoping to catch my eyes, but I refuse. I call forth my anger to keep me going. Does he want me to hate him? A part of me wants to hate him—and does, in fact, hate him for saying those things to me—yet I know that I could never hate my husband, no matter how much I want to.

The hours drag on slowly as we see to our people's concerns and pains. I become increasingly restless, having been sitting on a throne for three hours. The herald announces the names of the next petitioners: "_Louis de Bourbon, Prince of Condé, and King Antoine de Bourbon of Navarre_!" Francis tenses in his seat and we share a brief glance. I'm not familiar with the House of Bourbon, but judging from Francis's reaction, I know that they are of significance.

"Louis, Antoine," my husband says coolly. "What brings you here to France? I never expected to see any of your blood come here."

"It's not a diplomatic visit, I assure you," Louis answers, his tone just as formal. "Relations between Valois and Bourbon have been bloody for as long as I can remember. I was hoping that could be remedied."

"Remedied?" I repeat. "How?"

"A marriage pact. A betrothal," Antoine cuts in, "between the next princess of Valois and my last son."

"Enough with the formalities," snaps Francis. "We both know you're not here to mend fences between Valois and Bourbon." He steps down from the throne. "Get the hell out of my presence before I decide to call the guards."

"Your guards are dead," Louis boasts, "because our men killed them all. The Louvre is now under our protection." I rise from my seat, making for the exit, but he blocks my path as dozens of Englishmen flood into the palace. Screams and shrieks of fear from the commoners pierce the air and Francis quickly steps by my side protectively, only to be violently grabbed by Antoine and one of his men, forced to his knees as his wrists are bound behind his back and a gag stuffed into his mouth.

I lunge for him, desperate to reach him, but Louis seizes me by the hair, jerking me back viciously. I shriek in pain as he wraps his arm around my neck in a choke-hold, clapping a rough hand over my mouth, muffling my screams. He jams a bandanna into my mouth, tying it around the back of my head, before he drags me off. Antoine takes a struggling Francis, kicking and writhing and screaming through his gag. My heart pounds heavily in my chest; I'm choke-sobbing and shrieking through the gag in my mouth, fighting against Louis with every ounce of strength I have.

Louis opens a door to one of the guest rooms, hauling me inside, but not before locking the door behind us. He throws me to the ground, sending me sprawling. I cry out, landing on my hands and knees so as to protect my unborn baby. "I'm sure you're curious why I'm doing this," he begins conversationally. He yanks the gag out from my mouth; his stare is predatory, dangerous, murderous, and feverish with lust. "Antoine is speaking with your husband about possible negotiations between us."

"What the fuck do you want from me?" I demand, climbing to my feet. "I have nothing to offer you, and even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you." Unflinchingly, I meet his stare. "This crusade of yours is a lost cause. Go back to England and just maybe, I will let you walk away with your life." Louis's palm lashes out, cutting me across the jaw. I glare at him, tasting blood in my mouth.

"A man has to indulge in his pleasures every now and again, Your Majesty," he growls, unlocking the door. Almost as if on cue, one of the Bourbon loyalists makes his entrance. "Of course, I can always share. I've fucked my fair share of whores, but I thought I'd let my men have some as well." My blood pounds in my ears. I'm not even listening to what he's saying anymore. I can't hear him over my raw, absolute terror. _This man means to rape me and kill me_. "Let me know when you're done," he tells his partisan lowly. "I need to check in on Antoine." I watch Louis in revulsion as he takes his leave of us. I need to get out of here and get to Francis as soon as possible. I need to find my husband and protect our baby.

My legs give out and I run for the door, but the Englishman backhands me across the face with so much force that I almost black out. The cold hard floor kisses my skin. I struggle to rise to my hands and knees, the room spinning. Everything is in slow motion, as though in a dream. Two hard hands grab me by the ankles, dragging me towards him. I scream and kick and struggle ferociously, my fingernails digging into the carpet. My heart races at a thousand miles an hour; all I know is my terror for my life and that of my child's. My assailant slaps me across the face, not once nor twice, but three times. I see stars as he forces my legs open, forcing himself between them. Screams echo in the room, but he clamps his hand over my mouth, stifling my cries. On instinct, I sink my teeth into his fingers with as much power as I can muster. My attacker howls in pain and I see my chance. I drive my feet into his chest, kicking him and shoving him into the wall.

His pistol clatters to the floor. I don't hesitate as I lunge for it, grabbing it before my enemy does. I scramble backwards as I pull the trigger, three deafening shots resounding in the room. He falls upon me, crushing me with his weight, grappling for the gun. We wrestle for it, both of our fingers on the trigger, just waiting for one of his to pull it. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, granting me the strength I need. I grunt as I struggle to aim the gun away from my chin; my enemy's fingers have a death-grip on the pistol, desperate and determined to kill me. All of a sudden, an earsplitting shot resonances. The Englishman collapses to the ground, his face sprayed in red as he chokes on his own blood. Blood discharges from the back of his head and onto the floor. Wordlessly, he grunts and moans before he goes utterly still.

The gun drops from my hands, clattering to the floor. I look down at my trembling hands, struggling for air. My clothes are splattered in blood, all I can see is blood and the man that I…the man that I killed. I place my hand over the plane of my stomach, feeling the familiar swell of my baby.

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, baby," I whisper. "We're going to be okay, we're going to be just fine." _Just find Francis, just find Francis! _my mind screams at me through the shock. _Find Francis and protect your baby! _I don't waste any time as my resolve hardens. I reach down, grabbing the gun. I reload it before I slowly open the door, looking both ways. The hall is vacant, much to my surprise. For a moment, I think I hear voices coming from around the corner. I quietly close the door behind me, darting in the opposite direction and pressing back to the wall.

"…King Francis isn't going to go down without a fight, Antoine," says Louis. "The castle may be ours right now, but I expect that we'll be dead within the night unless Elizabeth doesn't send in reinforcements."

"We came here out of our own accord, Louis," Antoine reminds him sharply. "Remember that. We may share a common enemy with Elizabeth in the Valois, but we can't risk an all-out war. We need King Francis to stand down and to give his word that he will not resist further."

"I know the one thing that will make him do just that: his wife. The question begs, do I kill her?" The callousness in his voice sends chills down my spine. _You have no idea who you're dealing with, Mary. _"Isn't she pregnant, though? Not that it really matters, because one of my men is warming her up for me." He laughs and I have to swallow down the bile that rises in my throat.

"If you don't want to kill her, do what you will with her," the Navarre king snaps. "It doesn't matter to me—but I will not have the next Valois heir hell-bent on seeing us dead, do you understand me? Don't let your carnal lust for the queen get in the way of why we're truly here."

"I understand," Louis answers. "I'm not a fool, Antoine."

"Good." Their voices and their footsteps fade. It isn't until I exhale that I realize that I've been holding my breath. My legs give way into a desperate sprint; I bite down on my lip to keep myself from shouting for Francis. I know that Louis and Antoine's men are all about the castle and the last thing I need is to attract their attention. By now, Louis must be searching for me. This realization only sends a jolt of desperation and fear through me.

I pound on all the doors of the guest rooms, crying out Francis's name. No response. I can hear the rallying cries of men from the throne room; they must be celebrating their victory while Antoine and Louis try to get Francis and me to surrender. _No way in hell will I grant those bastards that satisfaction. _On and on I go, trying all the rooms. I don't know how long I go on until I finally barge into one of the rooms, the door surprisingly unlocked.

My husband lies on the ground at the foot of the bed, his wrists and ankles bound and a strip of duct tape over his mouth. His eyes widen in shock as his eyes find me. I rush over to him, my legs buckling under me as I slip my gun into my belt on my jeans. I tear the duct tape off his mouth as I fumble with his bonds. My hands shake uncontrollably as I untie him.

"Mary, what are you doing here?" he demands, rubbing the circulation back into his writs. "You need to get out of here. If you're found, they will _kill _you!" I help him to his feet, and almost immediately, his arms wrap around me in an embrace. He kisses me urgently, as though it is our last.

"I'm not leaving without you," I say breathlessly.

"Mary, what happened to you?" my husband demands, alarmed. "You're covered in blood!" I chuckle darkly, raking a trembling hand through my hair. "Is our baby okay?"

"Louis tried having one of his men rape me before he had his way with me," I explain, "but I wouldn't let it happen. Francis, I _killed _someone. Oh god, I actually killed someone." My breaths come in quick and short. I can't breathe. This isn't real, this can't be happening. _A man is dead because of you. _

"Shhh, shhh. Mary, love, you did what you had to do to survive," Francis assures me, holding my face in his palms. "It's alright, everything's going to be alright." I nod mutely, covering his hands in mine. "Mary, god, I am so sorry. I'm so sorry for what I said to you this morning. I was desperate. I was afraid for you…"

"Francis, it's alright," I say quietly. "It's alright. It doesn't matter now." I shake my head sadly. "What are we supposed to do now? Our people are in danger!"

"Antoine is going to be hosting a feast later on this evening," my husband informs me. "He's going to expect you to be there."

"Me? What about you? Why won't you…?"

"I won't be there because I gave myself up to the Bourbons. My life in exchange for yours and our people's," he tells me. I shake my head furiously, blinking back tears of horror. "Mary, if I ever get out of this room, the first thing I'll do is come for you."

"If you come for me, they will kill you!" I protest. "Francis, we are king and queen. We have to trust each other to do what is necessary. Trust that I can get myself out of that room. Trust that I can protect myself and our baby."

"Mary, I..."

"I know," I whisper. "I know." I smile weakly through a film of tears. Francis pulls me to him, our lips coming together in a heated, desperate kiss. The kiss is over within moments as we break apart, our foreheads coming together. "Promise me you won't come back," I plead. Francis doesn't have a chance to answer as the door surges open, revealing none other than Louis himself. We spring apart and my husband shoves me behind him protectively. I pull my gun out of my belt, aiming it at Louis. My hands tremor and I struggle to maintain a firm grip on my weapon.

"Stay the hell away from me," I warn. "I killed one of your men, and I can kill you too." My voice is just as unsteady as my grip on my gun.

"You really are a feisty one, Mary," Louis observes, taking a few steps closer. "Put the gun down. I didn't come here to fight." He raises his hands in surrender, but not before knocking the gun out of my hands and slapping me across the face. I press a hand to my cheek, grimacing in pain, as he picks up the pistol.

"Raise a hand to my wife again and I swear to god I will fucking end you," growls Francis, "so say what you will and get out." His voice is poison, giving the promise of death.

"Antoine's feast is in a couple hours, Mary," he reminds me. "I would suggest you clean yourself up. If you or your husband try anything, I assure you I will have my way with you—and I am a man of my word."

_Like hell you will. _


	23. Fire and Ice

"_If you and your husband try anything, I assure you I will have my way with you—and I'm a man of my word_." Louis's threat hangs in the air, just as palpable as Francis's presence at my side. Francis takes my hand in his, our gazes locking together.

"Do what he says, Mary," he urges me. "I don't want him to hurt you or our baby ever again." His tone is desperate, pleading. I cover his hand in mine, squeezing gently.

"Francis, we need to protect our people," I remind him. "We need to get them out of the castle as soon as possible." I shake my head as I pace the room, twisting my hands together. "You said that you're not expected to be at the dinner tonight. Louis and Antoine would have no reason to question your absence." The gears in my mind rotate like a piece of machinery as I ponder. "Francis, do you remember the secret passageways?"

My husband's eyes flicker in intuition. "Yes, I remember. We used to play down there when we were children. What are you trying to suggest, Mary?"

"There is a passage that runs from a hidden door in the main hall, through the tunnels, and comes out by the stables," I explain. "Do you remember it?" Francis nods, and I continue. "You can take everyone in this castle and lead them to safety. I'll be right behind you as soon as I'm able to make an excuse to leave the feast."

"If something goes wrong…Mary, if you're caught—"

"I'm going to be fine," I assure him, taking his face in my hands. "Trust me, I'll be okay, we're all going to be okay."

"I stole a radio off one of the guards," says Francis, "and I was able to send out an SOS to the police. They'll send in reinforcements tonight…and this will all be over." He covers my hands in his, his pleading eyes piercing mine. "Please, just make it through the feast—and this will all be over."

"What do you plan to do about the Bourbons?"

"If I execute them, then I risk the retaliation of both Elizabeth and the Protestants," he explains, "but if I don't, then I will be allowing traitors to the crown walk free." He shakes his head doggedly. "It doesn't matter right now, Mary. What matters is the safety of our people. Mary, there is a chance that none of us will make it out of this castle alive. If we all die tonight, I just…I love you. I need you to know that. _I love you._"

"I love you too." My voice is soft, just above a whisper. Francis crushes his lips against mine; his passion is wild and unrelenting and I respond to him just as eagerly. We don't even make it to the bed as we lose ourselves in one another, our naked bodies entwined together on the floor as we make love savagely. Our fear and our desperation blur until our passion is all we know, for tonight just might be our last. After tonight, we will never see each other again. We will never see each other again, we will never hold each other again.

"Protect our baby," he whispers to me afterwards.

"I will," I assure him. "I promise."

* * *

As promised, the Bourbons' feast takes place that evening. I dress accordingly; my hair is in waves, tumbling down my shoulders, and my ears are adorned in a pair of diamond earrings and I wear a black evening dress. My heart hammers in my breast as Louis escorts me to the dining hall, my arm in his. I can't help but look over my shoulder as we make our way down the hall. _Please let Francis live, _I pray. _If anything should happen to me, spare him. Spare my husband. Please. _I don't know who I pray to, but I can all but hope that they listen.

I sit down at the table between Louis and Antoine. The food is extravagant and exotic, but I'm unable to eat. Their men laugh and jest in their cups, making crude jokes. I lay a hand over the small bulge of my belly, picking at my food absently. I'm not hungry; all I want is to get out of this room. I just have to wait until the opportunity shows itself. On the table is a chest filled with gold and over a thousand grand in cash, more than enough to bribe them. I stare at it, not listening to the conversations floating around me.

"You're awfully quiet," Antoine says pointedly. "Is something wrong, Mary?" I meet his stare, my face composed into a mask of meekness and calm.

"Nothing's wrong," I say formally, "but I am curious. How long will the Louvre remain under your protection? Surely this isn't a long-term arrangement. It can't be…can it?"

"For as long as necessary," the King of Navarre answers bluntly. "That isn't a problem, now is it? The only blood that has been shed is the blood of your and King Francis's men. I would hate to spill the queen's blood and that of her unborn child." The threat is blatant and clear, but I force myself to meet his stare as I twist the fork in my hand.

"No, no, of course not! I was merely curious because I'm sure that as King of Navarre, the people of Spain need you there more than here in France." I offer him a tight smile, hoping to conceal the true meaning behind my words. _Get the hell out of my country or I will see you dead. _

"Spain prospers," says Antoine coolly. "Your…queenly concern is appreciated. Spain is much better off than France, to be frank, but all in due time, of course."

"Of course," I agree placidly. I shake my head, bringing a hand to my brow. "Is it alright if I excuse myself? I'm not feeling well. It's just…the baby." I feign a hiss of pain. "Shit, I think…I think I'm bleeding." I rise from my chair, placing a hand on the table for support. "I think I'm losing my child. May I…retire to my chambers, please?"

"Louis, please see Mary back to her rooms," he orders. Louis approaches me, offering me his hand.

"Come with me, Mary," he urges me. "I'm not going to hurt you. You have my word on that." I meet his stare dubiously before I sweep an arm across the table, knocking over the chest. It hits the ground with a loud clang, its contents spilling out onto the floor.

"I don't know what it is you want from France," I begin hotly, my miscarriage façade dropped, "but if it's money, if it's gold, _take it_! Take it and get the fuck out of my country!" The Bourbon loyalists are on their knees, scavenging the gold like they are vultures fighting for the last scrap of meat.

"You want to know why we're here?" Antoine roars. "We came here to conquer, you French bitch! I don't give a fuck for your fucking money!" He grabs me by the arm, throwing me upon my back on the table, before he climbs on all fours, looming above me. I look over my shoulder towards the hourglass. The sand is almost halfway drained. _Shit, I don't have time for this! _

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" I scream. I grope blindly above my head, trying to reach the hourglass or any kind of weapon. My fingertips brush the glass, and I push it off the table. It shatters upon the ground. Everything after that happens in slow motion, almost as though it were a dream. Antoine is pulled off me and his men stare at one another in horror, blood dripping from their noses.

"_Francis_!" I screech. My husband is here, I realize. _Oh my god, he's here. No, no, no, this was not part of the plan! Go back! Go back! _He is locked in fisticuffs with Antoine and Louis, but they stop when the Bourbons see their men collapsing to the ground, dead.

"What the hell is this?" Louis demands. "You poisoned the gold?" I push myself upright before sliding off the table.

"And now you have no more men to keep this castle secure for you," I say venomously. "The police and the SWAT team are on their way, so don't even bother trying to escape." Just outside, the wail of sirens can be heard. "Actually, they are here right now. You will face the king's justice for multiple accounts of treason and attempted murder of your sovereigns." My voice is steady and firm, much to my relief, but my hands tremble uncontrollably. The police swarm into the room and surround the Bourbons like a pack of wolves; my husband and I watch as Louis and Antoine are arrested and taken away.

Francis takes me in his arms, holding me close as I shake. I hide my face in his shoulder, inhaling his scent. I don't realize I'm crying until I feel something wet on my face, but I don't care. All that matters is Francis. "It's alright, it's alright," he murmurs in my ear. "You're okay, you're okay." I nod silently, not trusting myself to speak. "You're okay," he repeats. "We're all going to be okay."

* * *

Silence. A dead, eerie silence fills the darkness in the castle. It's been hours since the Bourbons' sacking of the palace; the people are in their rooms, preparing for bed after having been victims of Louis and Antoine's ambitions. Francis and I have retired to our chambers as well. A heavy silence weighs between us and I feel as though something is tearing at my heart, eating at me from the inside. I find myself approaching him, tears blinding me.

"Why?" I demand. "Why did you come back?" My voice wavers and breaks as hysteria rises within me. I push him aggressively, tears streaming down my cheeks, as my voice becomes shriller and shriller as I yell at him. "_You didn't know the gold was poisoned! It was one man against a dozen_! They would've killed you! _Why would you do something so stupid?" _

"Because I love you!" My husband manages to dodge my shoves, cupping my face in his hands. Our eyes search each other; I can feel myself drowning in him and I don't want to swim. "_I love you, Mary._"

"They would have killed you," I whisper brokenly. Francis covers my lips in his, hushing me. Our foreheads lean together as I breathe deeply and slowly. "I couldn't have—" He kisses me again, his thumbs brushing my cheeks.

"You are my queen," he says quietly, "and the mother of my child. I love you." Our lips meet once more in a slow, passionate kiss. I run my hands over my husband's bare chest as he pulls my camisole over my head, freeing my breasts. Francis's hand rakes through my hair as our tongues kiss and clash, pushing and shoving against one another. I gasp as he nuzzles the space between my breasts, his curls teasing my bare skin, as he sinks to his knees. My husband pulls my shorts down to the ground, my fingers forming knots in his hair as he takes my panties off in one fluid motion, removing the thin material from my hips and baring me before him. His mouth possesses my skin as he trails kisses back up my body before meeting my lips again.

"I love you," I sigh into his mouth. I grab his face with my hands, kissing him hard, stepping back several steps towards the bed. My ankles hit the front end of the mattress and Francis breaks our kiss, his eyes devouring me as his hands roam my breasts, sliding down to my waist as I recline backwards upon the bed. I watch as he unties removes his trousers, tossing them into our heap of discarded clothes, my mind hazed with desire. I need him. I need this. I need to feel all of him. I need him inside me.

We give and take from one another, desperate for one another and craving for more as though we are each other's last lifeline. I wrap my arms around my husband, my breath already labored. I melt into him, gasping as he enters me. Francis plunges into me, his thrusts slow and rhythmic as he runs his hands up my legs. He trails them up to my thighs and I wrap my leg around him, my foot digging into his back.

"Please, Francis…please!" I whimper. My fingers thread through his curls, the other arm wrapped around his back as he gives me what I need. His mouth claims mine, biting down on my lower lip and pulling gently before he kisses me again. Our kisses are intense, heated, urgent, fiery—fanning the flames of our passion and desire. Francis drives his tongue into the contours of my mouth before he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along my neck. He growls in contentment as he adorns my flesh with his mouth. I arch myself closer to him, my leg that was pressing into his back now caressing his thighs.

"Mary, Mary, Mary…" he groans between kisses. I'm unable to stop myself from crying out as his thrusts become harder and deeper into my hot core, pushing me over the edge. I meet his sharp thrusts with my own, our hips rocking against one another. Francis silences my cries of rapture in a searing kiss and my fingernails claw at his bare chest eagerly. He increases our tempo and I reach for him, pressing trail of searing and rough kisses along his jaw. I take his flesh between my teeth, sucking against it as a moan falls from his lips before our lips come together once again. My husband pumps furiously into me, pinning my wrists to the mattress and intertwining our fingers together.

I lose myself in the all-consuming current of passion, a fiery and liquid sensation pouring throughout my body and I scream in pleasure. Francis roughly grips my thighs, his forehead pressing against mine. There is no telling where he begins and where I end. Our naked entangled bodies and our intense passion is all there is.

"I love feeling you inside me," I breathe. The pleasure brought about by his pumping is suddenly too much for me to bear, agonizingly and sinfully sweet, as I surge upward, rolling atop of him. I press myself against him, swallowing his moans with a kiss. My thick hair is wet with sweat as it falls down around my face like a black mourning veil. I hold Francis's face between my palms as I kiss him insistently, my hips continuously thrusting against him. His hand roams the terrain of my back, while his other hand finds the curve of my ass and squeezes before running through my hair.

"Come to me, baby," my husband rasps. "I want to see you come." I purr obligingly at these words. Sweat pours down my body; he is just as drenched in perspiration as I am. Francis moves his hand up to my breast, his thumb circling my nipple and his awe-filled eyes locked on me. Bolts of ecstasy surge through me, the throbbing between my legs tearing throughout my being.

"Oh god, Francis…I-I'm going to, I'm going to…" A strangled moan escapes my throat as I orgasm. Francis pulls himself upright and I loop my arms around his neck, settling myself in his lap and wrapping my legs around his waist. His hands take my face gently, holding me in his palms, and I reach out for him, lazily cupping his cheeks with my fingertips. I gasp as he pulls me closer to him, his cock digging deeper inside me.

"You're so beautiful when you come," he breathes. Our hips rock against one another, eliciting another moan from me as another orgasm hits. "That's it, baby. That's it." Francis's mouth connects with mine before latching to my neck, biting at my flesh. His mouth slowly, agonizingly, trails from my neck and down my throat, his teeth just barely scraping my skin before feasting upon my breast. I whimper and moan, cradling his head to me as his tongue laps at my nipple, biting and sucking and tugging against it with his teeth.

"Francis, I…oh god, I-I need…" I lose my words as I bring Francis's lips to mine impatiently. He pushes me back upon the bed before he adorns kisses down my body, starting at the hollow of my throat and journeying down. I grip the sheets desperately, gasping as his tongue finds my wet and hot center, sliding slowly and deliberately over my folds. My back arches and my hips jerk and spasm as he begins to make love to me with his tongue.

"Please…please!" I pant. "More, more…I need—" My words are lost in a scream of pleasure. The sensations of his loving me with his tongue suddenly overwhelm me as I begin to see stars. "I—oh, Francis…oh, oh, _OH!" _I've lost the ability to form coherent sentences as I sigh and gasp, losing myself in my euphoria. Francis journeys back up my body, kissing each and every inch of my bare skin before reaching my lips once again, our bodies pressing against each other as his weight comes down upon me. Playfully, he nips at the corner of my mouth before pulling back, gazing softly into my eyes. I cup his face between my hands as I meet his stare, breathless.

"I love you, Mary," Francis gasps. "I'm yours and you are mine. Completely."

"Yours," I agree. "Only yours." I kiss him hard, pausing once to catch my breath, before kissing him again with more fervor. "Now, Francis," I murmur, and his lips find mine. Francis pulses in and out of me in powerful thrusts and everything builds up inside of me from my core, our sighs and gasps and moans echoing off the walls. I bury my face in his shoulder, pressing the sole of my feet into the back of his thighs.

"I know, baby," he whispers in my ear, "I know, just let go. Come for me, Mary." And I do. I shatter into pieces beneath him, coming undone before him as my body exhales its release and he explodes, pouring into me and filling me with his hot seed. We cry out for each other in unison and Francis delivers one last powerful thrust into me. I shake beneath him, unable to bite back my scream as I orgasm. My husband slowly pulls out of me, lifting me up against him and cradling my head to his shoulder. His arms wrap around me protectively as I settle against him, the last of our tremors running through us. I sigh contentedly, kissing his shoulder, as he caresses my naked back. He chuckles and I raise my head to look at him, smiling.

"What's so funny?" I ask teasingly.

"It's nothing," my husband says. His voice softens and his eyes seem to pierce the depths of my soul. "You're beautiful." He kisses my hair, holding me close to him. "Mary, my love, you said to me that we have to trust each other to do what is necessary…and you were right. I want the same world as you do and the only way to build it is together. You are my queen and my wife. Without trust, we're nothing." He gives a shake of his head. "When I came for you during the feast and saw Antoine with his hands on you, I knew that if it hadn't been for the police…I would have killed him. I would have killed him and Louis for hurting you."

"Francis…"

"Whatever happens, I'll never leave you," he vows. "I'll never betray you." I know I shouldn't push the matter, but against my better judgement, I do so regardless.

"Tell me why you're so afraid, my love," I urge him gently. "Whatever it is, I will fight at your side!"

"You would, wouldn't you?" Francis manages a sad half-smile. "You'd fight until the end." I reach out for him, stroking his cheek with my thumb.

"I would," I say fiercely, "because I love you. Francis, _I love you_. I—" I don't have a chance to finish as my husband kisses me passionately before he makes love to me once more.


	24. Resign to Surrender - A New Age Dawns

"Good morning, beautiful," Francis purrs in my ear, nibbling gently at my earlobe. I moan sleepily, pressing my bare body closer to his. I am tucked into the curve of his body in spoon-fashion, his arm wrapped around my waist and our legs intertwined. "It's our coronation day today, Mary."

"Just let me sleep a little longer," I insist, drugged with sleep. "Please." My husband chuckles and gently rolls me from my side and onto my back, smiling down at me. His weight presses down upon me, crushing my breasts beneath him. I wrap my arms around his back, meeting his gaze. Francis runs a knuckle down my cheekbone tenderly, his other hand placed on the side of my head and entangled in my hair. Wordlessly, he kisses me softly. His lips barely brush against mine before they make a tantalizing journey down my body. As I swim to the surface of reality and consciousness, I realize that the tingling, fluttery sensation between my legs is Francis's tongue. My back arches as I grab a fistful of his hair, bringing my other hand to my brow as fiery pleasure spreads throughout my body. I shudder in ecstasy, writhing beneath my husband. His fingers grip my thighs roughly, securing my body to the mattress.

"Wake up, baby," he croons, his voice thick and seductive. I groan in protest and pleasure as he kisses his way back up my body, worshipping me. He hushes me with a firm kiss just as there is a sudden knock on the door.

"What is it?" I call out. "Don't come in, please!"

"Your Majesty, Princess Claude de Valois has just arrived," the page reports from outside the door, "and she very much would like to speak with Your Majesty King Francis." Francis turns his head towards the door at the mention of his sister.

"Give us a moment!" he shouts. He clambers off the bed, his cock sliding out of me. I sit upright in bed; my body tingles from our lovemaking from these past couple of nights.

"Claude? As in your sister?" I ask him, propping myself upright. "I thought she wasn't going to be here for another couple of days."

"I guess her flight must've came in ahead of schedule," my husband says, dressing himself. My eyes lower to his chest as he buttons his jeans and another surge of desire sweeps through me. I'm almost tempted to dominate him on the floor right then and there. I climb out of bed, wrapping my arms around his neck. He is naked still, save for his jeans. His chest is bared to me, just as I am to him. My breasts brush against him as he wraps his arms around my waist, molding our bodies together.

"I'm excited to meet your sister," I say. "Based on what you've told me about her, she seems like she's a force to be reckoned with." Francis chuckles, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.

"Claude really is something," he agrees, "but I'm sure you'll like her." He leans forward, stealing a kiss. I kiss him back eagerly, moaning into his mouth. My husband's hand rises from my waist to graze my breasts and I pull down on his lower lip, taking it between my teeth and pulling playfully.

"Will you come back to bed for just a few more minutes?" I ask teasingly. "Please?" I kiss and nip at the nape of his neck, fully knowledgeable of the affect I have on my husband. Francis growls in approval, his hand snaking through my hair. He pulls away briefly and our lips meet again in a searing, thorough kiss. The kiss is fast and short, yet when it's over, I'm left gasping for breath.

"Tonight, I will give you the most mind-blowing night of your life," vows Francis, his smile more Lucifer than Michael. He kisses me again; my lips tingle from his kiss as I watch him put his shirt back on.

"I'll catch up with you in just a few minutes!" I tell him. "Go ahead and see Claude; I'll be right there." He nods and I watch him as he leaves, closing the door behind him. I press my fingers to my lips; I can still taste him. I can still feel his utter passion from his lovemaking. I get dressed, donning a short black dress and some black heels, and I head into the bathroom to brush my hair. And my heart stops.

_MURDERER. _Written on the mirror in red, the word mocks me. I stagger back several steps, horrified, my back hitting the cold wall. What the hell is this? How the hell did someone get in the room? And what possible could reason could they have for doing this? I take a few steps forward, pressing my fingers to the macabre letters. Blood. _This was a deliberate attempt to terrorize the crown, _I realize. _But why? _It has been several months since Tomas—France and Portugal have long since made peace over the issue, given the fact that it was Francis who killed him. Portugal has no reason to start a war with France and vice versa. I give a shake of my head as I spray and wash the mirror, cleansing it of the blood. My mind races.

Is this what Francis is so afraid of? I can't explain it, but my intuition tells me that this message is not meant for me – but for my husband. _Portuguese supporters, maybe? _Tomas's death had been a very trying time for all parties involved – and I know that not everyone agreed with the king's decision to maintain the peace between our countries. There can't be any other plausible explanation for this act of treason. I hurry back into the room and I head over to Francis's desk, trying to ignore the nagging feeling of guilt in the back of my mind. By all rights, I shouldn't even be doing this – but I need answers. I need to know what it is that has my husband pushing me away for the sake of my safety. I need to know why he lied to me when he told me that he blamed me for the deaths of his brother and his parents.

I rummage through the drawers furiously, like a starving man going through the garbage in search of scraps of food, and what I find makes my blood run cold. In one of the drawers, I find a knife. The blade is stained with dried blood and there is a note attached to it. The note is typed in a small and simple font, but the message is clear: _I know what you did. _I drop the knife as though it were hot to the touch and it clatters back into the drawer. _Oh my god. _My mind flashes back to the morning when the news of Henri's murder broke.

"_Looks like someone snuck in here and stabbed him to death in some sort of struggle,_" the coroner had said. I shake my head vigorously, tears of horror stinging in my eyes.

"Oh my god, Francis…" I breathe. Tears slip down my cheeks as I stare at the blade. _Francis murdered Henri. _There is no other way to explain this…but who the hell is doing this? Who the hell is threatening my husband? I hurriedly close the drawers and wipe away my tears. Francis is expecting me to join him in welcoming his sister back to court. Neither he nor Claude can know what I know.

I put on a smile and I move forward.

* * *

"There she is!" Claude exclaims as I enter the throne room. "I was wondering what was keeping you."

"Sorry, sorry," I apologize quickly. "It just…ended up taking me a bit more time to get ready, is all." I force a smile as my sister-in-law embraces me, kissing me on both of my cheeks. "I'm glad to finally meet you, Claude." And I am glad to meet her; thankfully, I don't have to feign kindness towards her. My mind still races at a thousand miles an hour. All I can think about is Francis. All I can think about is my husband and how he killed his own father. _He's been lying to me to protect me from whoever is threatening him. _His bout of nightmares, his almost unsurprised reaction when we found out Henri was dead…it all makes sense now. I swallow down the lump that has formed in my throat, rapidly blinking back tears.

"Are you okay, Mary?" she asks me. "You seem a little—" She makes an awkward gesture with her hands and I nod, twisting my hands together.

"I'm fine, thank you," I say quickly. "I'm just very…hormonal right now." I shake my head and my husband approaches me, sliding an arm around my waist and gently kissing my forehead.

"Are you sure everything is alright?" presses Francis. "I know with the coronation tonight, you've been stressed—" I step out of his reach; much to my chagrin, my face is wet with tears. _You have to protect your husband. Find the surveillance footage of Henri's murder and erase it. He doesn't know why you're so upset. _

"Can you excuse me for a moment please?" I don't even bother to wait for a reply as I storm out of the room. I realize that I'm not crying for Henri, but for Francis. _His own father murdered his brother and his wife…and he killed him in the end. _The House of Valois is bathing in its own blood – and now, Claude is all Francis has left aside from me and our baby. I don't know who is threatening him, but all I know is that whoever they are, I have no mercy for them.

* * *

The security room is vacant, and the computer is still logged on. I slowly sit down in the chair, breathing deeply and slowly. My heart hammers in my breast as I search the surveillance footage. Most of it is rather uneventful; in every hallway and in every room, the various snippets of footage show the lords and nobles – as well as me, Francis, Catherine, and Henri – going about our daily lives. Bits and pieces of it capture me with Francis in the throes of intimate passion. It seems an eternity, but I finally find it. The video shows Henri, sleeping soundly in his bed, when the door opens. Francis approaches the bed, clutching a knife in his hand, and looms over his father. He raises the blade high over Henri's chest, before he brings it down. Blood splatters across the sheets as Henri awakens, roaring in fury, grappling for Francis's knife – but to no avail. His roars dissipate to sickening gurgling and choking as Francis stabs him in the chest over and over again.

_Oh my god. _Nausea threatens to overwhelm me, but I force myself to continue watching. Francis scrambles off the bed, his bloody knife slipping from his hands and onto the floor. Henri's body is entangled in the bloody sheets, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. He looks down at his hands, crimson in Henri's blood. His body shakes from the shock. I press a hand to my mouth, a ragged sob escaping my chest. I watch as my husband walks into his parents' bathroom; he turns on the sink, rinsing his hands. The water turns red. Francis turns off the water, sinking to the floor against the counter, before he breaks down into harsh, choked sobs. I shake my head, brushing my hands under my eyes in an attempt to stop the ceaseless flow of tears, and I stop the video, unable to watch more. I am absolutely horrified. This is what Francis has been keeping from me. This is why he's been lying to me.

I have to do what I can to protect his secret. Neither of us are fools; regicide is the worst crime against royalty a man can commit. Francis murdered his own father – the King of France – and if he were ever to be accused and found guilty, he would be killed for it. And I would die along with him. My resolve hardening, in one simple click, I delete the footage. I don't care what punishment I will receive if my tampering with this evidence is ever discovered; if it means protecting my husband, so be it. I go through more of the surveillance, hoping that I am able to find out who is threatening him. Nothing shows up, which can mean one of several things: either they erased the footage, managed to disable one of the cameras, or they used one of the castle's secret passageways.

_Whoever they are, they're going to regret having ever crossed me. _

* * *

I pace back and forth in my rooms, waiting for Francis. There is no way I can go on, pretending that this doesn't hang over the both of us like a storm cloud waiting to burst. Neither of us can afford to do this anymore. Francis can't carry this burden alone. I can't stand by and watch as his guilt and trauma consume him. I won't let him suffer through this alone.

"Mary," my husband says, interrupting my thoughts. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Is something wrong? You've been acting as though you've seen a ghost ever since this morning." I stop in my tracks and I look him dead in the eye. I inhale and exhale slowly before I speak.

"Francis, I'm only going to ask you this once," I tell him. "Did you kill Henri?" Francis starts at these words as though I have just slapped him. I sit down on the couch; he joins me and I don't hesitate as I reach for his hand, covering it in mine. His breaths come in quick and jagged gasps.

"Shhh, shhh," I whisper. "It's okay. You can tell me." I brush my hand through the curls on the back of his head. Francis's mouth works silently, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"I did it to protect you and the baby," he says brokenly. "After Bash died, I refused to believe that my father was mad. I couldn't…I couldn't make sense of any of it. I just needed there to be some other explanation for why he did what he did, you know?" I nod silently, encouraging him to go on. "I wanted so badly to believe that, despite everything he had done, he was still my father." His words catch on a sob. I remain silent, listening as all of his grief and guilt pours out of him. "I just hate that it took him murdering my mother for me to realize what a monster he'd become, Mary. He killed my mother and hurt you. He could have killed you and our baby just as easily. I just…" My husband lets out another sob. I rub small circles into his back, stroking the back of his hand with my thumb. "How could he, Mary?" he cries. "How could he?"

"Francis…" Tears of my own streak from my eyes. I can't believe what I'm hearing and yet, at the same time, I can.

"Every night, I see my father," Francis confesses. "He haunts me in my dreams, and every time I close my eyes, I relive that night when I killed him." He presses a hand to his mouth, trying to suppress his sobs, but to no avail. I gather him in my arms, stroking his hair and rubbing his back, murmuring words of comfort to him as he weeps into my shoulder.

"Shhh, shhh, love," I say softly. "You're not alone in this. I refuse to let you carry this burden alone. This is our burden now – and we'll bear it together." Francis nods into my shoulder. I kiss his hair, holding him closer to me. "I love you, Francis, and I will never let you be alone." I don't know how long we sit there, holding each other, but finally, Francis's sobs recede. He gently pulls himself out of my arms, running a hand over his face.

"How did you find out?" he asks quietly, stray tears running down his face.

"After you left to meet up with Claude," I begin, "I saw that someone had broken in and written _murderer _on the bathroom mirror…with Henri's blood. I did some more digging…and I found the knife you used to kill him."

"Someone else knows what I've done. I don't know who, but…they know. Mary, you're not safe. Neither is our baby, and neither is Claude," says Francis. "If the day should ever come that it becomes public that I killed my father, I need you to promise me that you'll get out of France. Promise me that you'll save yourself and our child. I'm not dragging anyone else down with me."

_He's asking me to leave him to his execution, _I realize. "Francis—"

"There is more than enough evidence to prove my guilt, Mary," he points out. "I'm not going to take anyone down with me, if it ever comes to it. Promise me."

"I promise," I murmur. "Francis, my love, I found the surveillance footage of Henri's murder. I deleted it."

"You…what?"

"The authorities must have missed it," I explain, "but it doesn't matter. I don't know who is threatening you, but if that tape ever got out…"

"It would be my ruin and the end of our reign," my husband finishes. "Mary, are you sure you want to be involved in this?"

"You are my husband and my king," I say. "I love you. Do you hear me? I love you." Francis nods mutely, and I envelop him in my arms once again. He exhales shakily and for several long moments, we merely hold one another, drawing strength from each other. My husband pulls out of my arms and reaches out for me, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. I cover his hand with mine as he cups my cheek with his palm, leaning into his touch.

"Are you going to be okay?" I murmur.

"I don't know," replies Francis, "but I know that as long as I have you by my side, I'm going to be okay." Our foreheads press against each other and I lean forward, my lips barely brushing his. "I love you, Mary," he murmurs. "God, I love you so much."

"We're going to figure this out, okay?" I promise him. "Together."

* * *

"A lot has happened," says Claude slowly. We walk through the castle gardens, the sun just beginning to set in the horizon. The coronation is just in a matter of hours. "I just never thought I could come back home only to lose my parents and see my brother become king."

"I'm sorry for your losses," I tell her sincerely.

"Thank you, Mary," she says, smiling sadly. "I hate that I couldn't be here in time for Mother and Father's funeral. I should have been here for Francis…and to say my goodbyes. You know, I always knew that my father was a volatile man. I just never expected what happened to…happen."

"I don't think any of us did, Claude. These past few months have been really hard on all of us…on Francis. I've done my best to be there for him – but he needs you," I explain. "He needs his family."

"It's not going to be easy being king," Claude tells me. "God knows it wasn't easy on my father. It's one thing to wait in line for the throne, another to have that power in your hands."

"Henri was mad for power," I tell her. "He killed Bash to punish Francis and he forced me to stake my claim to England."

"What kind of queen do you want to be, Mary?" my sister-in-law asks me.

"A different kind of queen." The answer comes without hesitation. "One that my husband is proud of." My hand floats to the small swell of my belly, where my baby flourishes. "I want my child to grow up in a better world."

"You're going to be a good queen," says Claude softly. "Francis has changed a lot since the last time I saw him. You make him a better person, Mary. You inspire him."

"I do?"

"Yes. With you and my brother on the throne, I see a better future for France – a better future than my parents could ever give," she admits. She takes me by the arm as we stroll. "Come on, sister. You need to get ready for your coronation."

* * *

Our coronation takes place that evening; all of court is awake as the day sleeps. The hallways are adorned in banners with my and Francis's initials intimately entwined with one another, and the bells ring, singing the song of a new age. My husband and I slowly walk down the halls, the Vatican and Claude and the nobles following behind us.

"Claude said to me that she sees a better future for France now that we are king and queen," I say to Francis. "What kind of future do you want for our nation?"

"A better future," answers Francis. "I want the same world as you do, and the only way to build it is together. We do greater things when we act as one." He offers me his hand and I take it without hesitation, meeting his eyes. "This isn't a coronation for a king, Mary. It is for a king and queen." I smile, gently squeezing his hand. "You are not just my queen; you are also my wife and the mother of our child. My parents' reign and marriage were tainted by a lack of trust, and it just about destroyed everything. This is our chance to start anew and to give France the prosperity it both needs and deserves."

"What about the English?" I can't help but ask. "And Louis and Antoine de Bourbon? I hear that Elizabeth was able to pull some strings and release them from prison." I shudder. Only weeks ago, the Bourbons had sacked the palace. I had been almost raped and killed, forced to kill another man to protect myself and my baby, and Francis himself almost killed, for he had bargained with the Bourbons in exchange for the castle's safety. "I doubt we've seen the last of them."

"We'll be ready for them," my husband vows. Our conversation ceases once we reach the throne room. Francis approaches and kneels at the Vatican's feet as the traditional scepter is placed in his hand. The Vatican blesses him, before gently placing a golden crown atop of his head. Francis rises, sitting down on the throne.

"All hail François de Valois, the Second of His Name, by the Grace of God, King of France!" the herald announces. "Long may he reign!"

"Long live the king!" the court cries in unison. Their voices resonate, echoing off the walls. It is my turn now. I sink to my knees before the Vatican and I too am blessed. He puts the crown atop my head and I climb to my feet, making my way to the throne and sinking down onto it.

"All hail Marie de Stuart, the First of Her Name, by the Grace of God, Queen of France and Scots! Long may she reign!"

"Long live the queen!"

* * *

"We're missing the party, you know," I purr. Francis's mouth covers mine in a hot kiss, our tongues clashing and pushing against each other. My hands reach down for his belt, pulling it through the loops. I whip it half across the room and Francis rolls his shoulders back, his furs sliding off his shoulders and onto the floor.

"I don't think anyone will mind," my husband whispers. I grab his blouse and rip it open, raking my nails down his exposed chest as I bite down on his lip and tug playfully. Buttons scatter across the room and Francis laughs into my mouth, his blouse joining the crumpled heap on the floor.

"I want you," I croon. "I want you so much." I gasp as Francis turns me around, wrapping me in his arms from behind. His lips graze against my bare skin on the back of my neck tantalizingly. I shudder, reaching behind me to cup his face in my hand. A resounding tear rips through the room and my gown falls to the floor in one large heap. The fabric falls away from my body, baring me to him. I turn around, my body anticipating what's to come.

"Patience, wife," Francis commands, not ungently. He reaches down, squeezing my ass, and I gasp as he lifts me up, carrying me to our bed. I hitch my legs around his waist, kissing him deeply. I wrap my arms around him, desperate to feel his skin on mine. I kick off my heels, and there is a small thud near the door. Francis throws me down onto the bed, his eyes devouring my naked body. He climbs off me as he takes off his shoes and unbuttons his jeans. I stare at him, already feverish with lust. My husband steps out of the small heap of clothes at his feet before he looms above me, his mouth claiming mine. We make love fiercely, speaking an unspoken promise without speaking. A new age dawns…and everything has changed.


	25. Queen of Scots, Queen of France

Do you know that feeling when you are with the one you love? The feeling that you are whole and safe in their arms, knowing that they are never going to let you go? Imagine that feeling and amplify it, and you can imagine how I feel right now—Francis's arms around me and mine around him, our naked bodies slick with sweat, together as one.

"I love you," I gasp. I hide my face in his shoulder, gripping his forearms for support, as he rhythmically thrusts into me. Francis's hands roam my bare back as he grunts in time to his punctuated movements. I cup his face in my hands and I kiss him hard, my legs wrapped around his waist. Out of all the times we've made love, it never ceases to amaze me how our bodies just fit together—like two puzzle pieces falling together. It feels natural, almost second nature to feel him inside me, to feel him love me with his hands and mouth.

Francis pushes me back onto the bed, pressing his weight down upon me as he plants searing hot kisses up my body, starting at my belly. It has been two months since our coronation; France has calmed since Henri and Catherine's deaths, just as we are truly beginning to adjust to our new roles as the new king and queen. Things have been relatively calm, although we both are on alert for any word on the Bourbon brothers – as well as investigating who is threatening him with the knowledge of his murder of Henri. The world now knows that I carry Francis's child—and I am only just now beginning to show, as a small bulge protrudes from my abdomen. Francis gently kisses my small bump, nuzzling gently and playfully with the baby that grows inside me. His lips graze my arm as I rake a hand through his soft curls before our lips come together once again. He kisses me intensely and thoroughly, demanding more. I oblige, not caring that I'm at a loss for breath. I surge forward, rolling atop of my husband, not once breaking our kiss as my hair falls in a curtain around us.

"My god, Mary," Francis rasps. I smile, pressing our foreheads together as I steadily rock my hips against his. "You're going to be my ruin, I swear to god." He grabs my face and kisses me passionately, pulling me closer to him along his length as I ride him. I let out a gasp, painful pleasure surging through me. I hold Francis's face for support, shuddering and whimpering in ecstasy.

"F-Francis," I gasp, struggling to articulate my words. "_OH_!" I relax into him as I finally find my tempo, grinding and rolling into him. Francis's hand pushes through my hair, while the other wraps around my naked back, exploring the familiar territory. I tear my lips away, a sigh falling from my lips as hot pleasure dances through me. I pull myself upright, planting my hands on his chest for support, arching my back. My head falls backwards as our erotic tempo gradually rebuilds itself. Francis lazily cups my breast in his hand, sliding down my body and to the globe of my ass. His head falls back onto the pillow and he closes his eyes, groaning as I grind our hips together. Pressure rises inside of me in my core the way a fire is kindled—beginning as a spark before bursting into flames. Francis rises forward, taking me in his arms, and rolls swiftly, thrusting vigorously into me.

"_You're fucking mine_!" he growls before taking my mouth under his in a searing, possessive kiss. Our tongues collide, pushing and pulling against each other like a tide of the ocean. I am lost in the current of passion and ecstasy. No, not lost—I am drowning, and I don't want to swim. My leg curls around his waist, our skin just barely brushing together. The air between is electric; oxygen leaves me as Francis's knuckle grazes my thigh. I hold his face in my hands, guiding his lips to my neck. My husband indulges, his lips leaving a hot trail of burning embers in their wake, furtherly stoking the fires of our passion.

"Yours," I breathe, my voice thick. "Oh my—oh, oh, oh, _OHHH_!" My back bows as liquid heat floods from my core. I dig my heels into his back, driving into him harder and harder, as my body rises to meet his. My fingers move of their own accord from his back to his shoulders, gripping tightly. I thread one hand through the lush curls on the back of his neck, keeping the other wrapped around him for support. Francis moves against me, filling me with himself. Our eyes lock on one another for several long moments before he kisses me slowly, taking the back of my head in one hand to tenderly hold my face still.

"Mary," he grunts. "Oh god, Mary!" His hips rocking against mine, he gently takes both of my hands and interweaves our fingers together. I gasp and moan and shudder in pleasure as his thrusts amplify my pleasure. His cock plunges into me so deeply and intensely that my loins throb painfully, but I don't care. I relish it. I relish the sensation of his lovemaking. Francis dips his head down, his lips seeking mine feverishly. Our moans, sighs, growls and whimpers harmonize together in a deliciously erotic sound, resonating loudly off our bedroom walls.

"Francis!" I rasp. "Oh my…_fuck!_" I'm breathless as Francis takes his hands from mine, his mouth journeying down my body. He sucks and kisses and bites at my bare skin, not daring to leave any part of me unravished. Everything rises back within me again—pressure, pleasure, pain—and I suddenly feel like I'm going to explode. Searing kisses trail up my inner thigh, just above my clit. Francis's eyes meet mine knowingly. My husband—he knows just how to fulfill my every need and he takes his time doing so. I gasp, my back arching off the bed, as his teeth take my little nub and suck softly. My hips jerk automatically up under his mouth, my palms slamming into the sheets and my fingers curling around the soft material.

"More…oh god, I need more." I close my eyes tightly, letting my head fall back onto a soft pillow. I growl and plead as Francis's tongue dances across my most intimate of places, before delving into my heated confines. "More…more…more!" My hips buck wildly and Francis firmly grabs my waist, securing it to the mattress as he continues to make love to me with his tongue. I shake under him, every sensitive spot that Francis has touched set afire. My mouth opens wordlessly and a strangled moan falls from my lips. I am so lost in my euphoric haze that I am surprised when the sensation brought about by his tongue ceases, and his lips cover mine in a loving kiss. I lace my arms around him, my fingers threading in his hair.

"I love being inside you," Francis pants. He kisses me again, tugging on my lower lip as he steadily thrusts into me. I mewl and purr in pleasure, my fingernails clawing at his torso. I arch my back as I orgasm and I scream in pleasure. The world spins and I am unable to think of anything else but the searing pleasure Francis gives me. Slowly, he takes my arms and lifts them above my head, effectively pinning me to the bed. Our fingers lace together as he draws my arms up, and my back arches, my breasts brushing into his chest as his hips roll against me in a sensual rhythm. I wrap my legs around his waist to draw him closer to me, moaning his name as he kisses me. I shudder and wither beneath him and he cries out my name as he explodes, pouring himself into me.

"_Francis!" _I scream rapturously. Francis's hips snap against me as he thrusts, slow and hard. My name falls from his lips like a prayer recited over and over again. I press the heel of my foot into his back, leveraging myself so I can meet his languid, strong thrusts with my own. We give and take from each other, pushing and pulling like a tide of the ocean. I pull myself upward, straddling his waist. His hands find my lower back as he buries his face in my neck, his lips seeking my skin. I curl my arms around his neck, shuddering at the sensation of his lips on my naked flesh. His hand gropes the curve of my ass as I shift, placing some weight on my knees as I lift myself off him halfway. I sink myself down back onto his length slowly, my fingers forming knots in his hair, and I shiver in ecstasy. Feverishly, my lips seek his as I pick up the pace of my rhythm. Francis strokes my cheek, his thumb grazing along my jawline, and I glance sideways at his hand, melting into his touch.

"You're so beautiful," he says, his voice just barely above a whisper and thick with desire. "You are so beautiful it breaks my heart." Much to my embarrassment, tears form in my eyes at these words. He tucks my hair behind my ear and away from my forehead before he draws me closer into another kiss, our lips dancing together in an erotic tango. Our kisses are like ice and fire, heaven and hell—two great, cosmic sources colliding together in an earth-shattering duel. I cry out as my orgasm rises, my breaths harsh, as Francis moves his hips against me. I pull at his hair, gathering myself closer to him, as I see stars.

"Francis—oh, oh…_OHHHH. _Francis! Francis! Francis!"

"Cum for me, baby," he growls in my ear. "I want to see you cum." The flames that burn and flicker in my core turn into a feral wildfire as he plunges deeper into me, brushing against the spot that has never failed to get me off during our love sessions.

"Fuck, Francis!" I rasp. My orgasm washes over me in a wave, my hips thrusting automatically, as I ride out the wave of pleasure and desire. Francis is entranced as he pulls himself back, watching as I shatter. My head falls back as I moan; goosebumps rise as my husband's hands splay across my bare thighs, roaming my flesh, before finding my back. His fingertips dig into me as he pushes me back onto the bed, pulling out of me before he delivers one last powerful thrust, releasing himself inside me. We scream in unison, crying out each other's names, before Francis slides out of me. I rest in his arms, our bodies wrapped around each other under the sheets.

"You know, we've never really talked about what to name the baby," I say, propping myself upon my elbow. "It's still a bit early for an ultrasound, but…our little prince should have his name, don't you think?" I rub my nose against his, before I give him a kiss.

"What if we're having a princess instead?" Francis laughs. "Or both?"

"Come on now, don't get greedy!" I tease him, playfully nudging him in the ribs. The thought of carrying twins sends my heart racing with excitement at the possibility. "I don't know why, but I've always imagined that it's a girl…a little Anne, maybe?"

"Anne de Valois." My husband articulates the name slowly, tasting it. "I'd like to think that she would look like you, that she would resemble her mother so much that it would make my heart break."

"She would have your eyes, too," I add, tracing a bite mark on his shoulder with my finger. Francis's skin is adorned in love bites, and I know that he too has left his marks on me. "She would be a true Valois…Anne Catherine de Valois." Francis's eyes shimmer with raw emotion as he caresses my face. "What's wrong?" I ask softly.

"Nothing's wrong," he assures me. "I'm just…I love you, you know that?" He gives a shake of his head and chuckles. The sound is bittersweet. "It's just that…I really miss her sometimes. My mother." I reach for his hand, covering it in mine. The wound of losing his mother has never really seemed to truly heal. Francis rarely speaks of her nowadays. He rarely speaks of his brother, nor of his parents. I don't know if those wounds will ever heal, or if the trauma of killing Henri will ever leave him. I know that Tomas has never seemed to leave me.

"I know you do," I whisper, squeezing gently.

"She should be here," says Francis. He smiles sadly. "Remember after you told me you were pregnant, she barged in on us without so much as batting an eye?"

"How could I forget? She was ecstatic about the prospect of becoming a grandmother," I say. My heart clenches and I rapidly blink back tears. "She would be proud of you, if she were still here," I murmur.

"She would, wouldn't she?"

"Yes, she would," I say. "You're a great king, a wonderful husband, and you're going to make an amazing father." Our foreheads touch and I lean forward, lazily kissing my husband. "I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

"_You are in the presence of Francis of the House of Valois, the Second of His Name, and Mary of the House of Stuart, the First of Her Name, by the Grace of God, King and Queen of France_." As we sit upon our thrones, I vaguely wonder what the common people are concerned about now. Relations between Catholics and Protestants have been relatively tense; there have been rumors of how the religious gang who call themselves the Darkness have reappeared throughout France, murdering and terrorizing innocents. There has been no word on Louis and Antoine de Bourbon, but I know that they are still out there. I place a hand protectively over the swell of my belly. _Nobody is going to touch my baby, _I vow fiercely.

"_James of the House of Stuart!" _the herald announces as my brother steps into the room. I can't help but remember my mother's warning. _Your brother is grabbing for the crown even as we speak. _I can't believe it. James wouldn't do such a thing. He's my brother.

"James! What're you doing here?" I exclaim.

"Hello to you too, little sister," he says warmly. "I'm going to be an uncle, I hear? Come on down from that throne of yours, Mary. I want to look at you." I oblige, making my way down the steps. "It's been so long. Last I saw you, you were on your way to the convent. Womanhood becomes you." I smile at him.

"It's been so long," I say.

"That it has," James agrees. "Mary, can we speak in private for a moment? I'm sorry, but I didn't come here just to socialize with you."

"Yes, of course!" My brother takes me by the arm, leading me out of the throne room hurriedly. The entire time, I feel Francis's eyes piercing me. "James, what the hell is going on?" I demand as soon as we are out of my husband's earshot. "What is so important that my own husband can't know about it?"

"It's about Scotland, Mary," he hisses, jerking me aside. On reflex, I pull myself out of his grip. I scowl at him, but I don't make any move to leave.

"What about Scotland?" I ask, my concern spiking. "Has Mother…?"

"The people are beginning to revolt against the queen regent," my brother explains tersely. "They need their queen, not the queen's mother. England has been gathering their military to make some kind of attack. I don't know if it's on France or Scotland, but either way, Scotland needs her queen. You need to come home."

"James, France's forces are depleted," I say slowly. "While Francis and I were on our honeymoon, Henri took it upon himself to retake Calais. France won, but…she doesn't have the strength for another battle."

"But Scotland does, Mary," James reminds me. "Mother's been gathering troops of her own—but her power is dwindling. The people need their queen."

"If the English are going to attack, don't you think Francis should know about it?" I challenge.

"Not until we know for certain where it is they're going to strike," he points out, "but it doesn't matter. Mary, you need to come home. I'll arrange for a private jet to take us to Scotland by tonight."

"Thank you, James."

* * *

"He wants you to return to Scotland?" Francis asks incredulously. I hurry about our room, stuffing my belongings in my suitcases. "Mary, you just can't leave on a whim like this."

"A whim?" I repeat crossly. "A _whim? _Are you seriously suggesting that I'm just lightheartedly making this decision for my country? And also, by extension, your country as well?" I look up at him, the first flames of fury beginning to burn.

"It's not that!" he insists.

"Then, what is it?" I demand. "What the hell is it? You forget yourself, Francis. I may be the Queen of France, but I am also _Scotland's _queen. I have been Scotland's queen ever since I was a baby."

"I…I don't trust your brother," says Francis slowly. "Why? Why now? Why does he want you to return to Scotland now of all times?"

"Things in Scotland are tense," I say shortly. "My mother is in a precarious position and there is a chance that one of our countries—either France or Scotland—may be attacked by England, so to answer your question, _that _is why I'm going." I brush past him, crossing the room as I zip my luggage up. "I am Mary, Queen of Scots, Francis. Scotland's welfare will always be of utmost concern to me. As you are now the King of France, I was hoping maybe you would understand that."

"You don't get it, do you?" he presses. "It's been decades since you last saw James. You don't know him at all. You think you do, but you don't."

"And what, you know my brother better?" I retort. Francis approaches me, taking my hands in his.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he tells me. "You're pregnant with our child. I don't want anything to happen to you." Gently, he cups my cheek in his palm. I relax into his touch but for a few moments before I reach for his hand and put it down.

"Yes, our child," I say coldly. "Your heir. For _France. _This child will be Scotland's heir, too, or did you also forget that? Scotland and I are one and the same, Francis."

"Mary—"

"_My country and I are one and the same_!" I hiss. "Forget that and you've forgotten who I am. I don't need to hear any more about this. Get out." Francis doesn't need to be told twice. I watch him leave, my anger pumping hotly through my veins.

I'm going to Scotland, and I'll be damned if I let anyone stop me.


	26. What Have You Done?

"You're really going back to Scotland?" Claude asks me. She sighs, shaking her head in disbelief. I give her a pointed look.

"Don't tell me Francis told you about my brother," I say. "Goddammit…but, yes, it's true. I'm returning to Scotland. I don't know if it's going to be a long-term visit or not, but I trust my brother. If my country needs me, then I'm not going to let anything stop me."

"Including my brother." It isn't a question, but rather a blunt statement. "I'm no expert on the politics of court, but I'm learning. Trust your gut, Mary, but don't just take Francis's worry for granted. You guys are king and queen over this country, and sometimes, it's not each other you have to trust. It's your instinct."

"Francis doesn't trust James," I tell her. "He doesn't want me to go to Scotland, and I just can't understand why. He claims that it's because of my pregnancy, but…there's something else going on."

"Maybe he has good reason, maybe he doesn't," says Claude. "Whatever it is that's going on between the two of you, I want no part of it." She pauses in her steps for a moment, turning to me. "I'm sorry, Mary, but I've been meaning to ask. What the hell is going on with you and Francis? Not this whole issue over your brother, but what are you two doing? Don't think that I haven't noticed, because I have. Are you guys conspiring together or something?"

_No, actually. In fact, your brother murdered your father and someone is threatening him with the fact that they know. We're trying to find out who it is. _"Nothing's going on, Claude," I say slowly and carefully. If there's anything my time at court has taught me, it is how to tell a convincing lie. "There are just some affairs that need to be kept between the king and queen, is all. It's nothing you need to worry about."

"Mary, I'm not stupid," she tells me. "I get that some things need to stay between you and my brother, I do, but…" She sighs. "Know what, just forget I said anything. Bottom line: Do what you think is right, but don't ignore Francis. You know he loves you."

"I know that, Claude. But, I have to wonder if he is as committed to Scotland as he is to me." I'm not sure what scares me most: the answer to that question, or what this means for us.

* * *

"Francis doesn't want you to go." It is more of a statement than a question. James heaves a sigh, shaking his head. "Mary, there is no time to lose. England will attack, and they're attacking Scotland. Not France. Scotland. Our country needs its queen, I don't know how much more I can stress that. With France's armies, Mary, you might be able to save Scotland. Come home, take your husband's armies with you, and bring down the English before it's too late."

"James, there's no way Francis is going to agree to this," I point out. "I'm not just going to take his men behind his back!"

"You've been here at court for months," he says, "and more often than not, you have been nothing but a pawn in the political games of the Valois and the nobles. Do you want to continue to be a pawn, or do you want to become a player? Are you ready to become the queen you were born to be?"

"I'm going to Scotland," I tell him. "All else be damned, I'm going…but I need some time. I have some loose ends that need to be tied and I need to speak with Francis. I realize you're leaving tonight, but please, just give me a little bit more time."

"These Frenchmen have their claws so deep in you, sister." My brother shakes his head in disgust. "Tell me, if it wasn't for your marriage to Francis, would you be so hesitant?"

"James, what is your problem?" I snap. "I'm going to Scotland with you, alright? Don't be so difficult. The French are just as much my people as the Scots are. I'm the Queen of France now that Catherine is dead. Do you expect me to just shrug off my responsibilities here?"

"No, of course not! You're missing the point, Mary. I'm just concerned that you've become more French than Scot," insists James. "You even speak with a French accent!"

"I assure you that while I may live in France, I have the heart and blood of a Scot," I say resolutely. "If anyone tries to take my country from me, I will rain blood down on them. I intend to leave with you tonight, so the matter is settled. Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

"Yes," he says. "Mary, don't be so trusting of these French you're living with. You're merely a guest here at court because you're married to the king. Without Francis's support, you're nothing. In Scotland, it's different. You are her sovereign queen."

"I'm well aware of this fact, James."

"Just…be careful. There's no telling who you can trust these days." I watch as James takes his leave of me. I don't know who to trust. I trust Francis with my life, but it seems as though he is hell-bent on keeping me from being Scotland's queen—and I want to believe that he supports me in my reign of Scotland. He's my husband—why wouldn't he support me? I have no reason to doubt my brother's word either. He has always stood by my mother while she has governed Scotland in my stead. Why would he suddenly turn on me now? I won't turn my back on France, but I also won't allow Scotland to fall.

_There's no telling who you can trust these days. _I almost laugh aloud humorlessly at the thought. Who can I trust? Who _should _I trust? My brother or my husband? My brother, who wants what's best for Scotland, or my husband, the King of France, who will always put his country's needs above me?

"Mary." Francis's voice startles me out of my thoughts, and I jump slightly. "Hey, I wanted to talk to you about Scotland."

"You've made yourself quite clear," I say curtly. "You don't want me to go."

"I've given it some thought, Mary," he tells me, "and I'm coming with you. It'll be better for Scotland to see her queen and her king. Your people will see for themselves that our union is strong, and together, we can put a stop to the English attack."

"You're serious?" I ask in disbelief. My husband closes the distance between us, combing a hand through my hair. "Francis…"

"I'm sure that France can go a few days without her king and queen," he says. "I just want to make sure that you will make it to Scotland safely. I don't trust James, but I do trust you."

"Oh my god, Francis, thank you!" I exclaim. "But…but what if something goes wrong here? What if the Bourbons come back? What if—"

"What if my wife doesn't realize that I love her?" my husband says. "What if she doesn't see that I put her first?" He smiles softly at me.

"Thank you so much! Trust me, you'll be glad we went," I say. "I've already packed my things." I grab Francis's face, kissing him hard. Francis deepens the kiss, his arms sliding intimately around my waist.

"Scotland will be meeting her queen and her king," he tells me. I let out a squeal as I jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist, kissing him once again. Francis carries me to our bed, laying me down gently, and we make love tenderly and slowly.

"What made you change your mind?" I ask, breaking the silence between us. Our naked bodies are entwined with one another, the sheets wrapped around us.

"When are you going to realize that I love you? And I'll do anything for you?" my husband asks. He kisses my hair as he strokes it with his hand. I melt into his touch and the warmth of his body, humming in contentment. I raise myself up upon one elbow, gently and playfully scratching his bare torso with my fingernails.

"Darling, let me be grateful for what you've done without making promises you can't keep," I murmur. "I…I don't know what to say."

"You needn't say anything, my love," says Francis. "I've only kept my promise…as a king and a husband."

"I love you, you know that?" I ask, rubbing our noses together. Francis smiles devilishly at me and his mouth is suddenly hard on mine as he rolls, his body heavy upon mine.

"We have plenty of time before we have to go," he says.

"Yes, we do," I giggle.

Needless to say, neither of us leave the bedroom.

* * *

When I wake up, my body is lame and sore from the urgency of Francis's lovemaking. My mind is foggy with sleep. I roll over, lazily reaching a hand out for my husband. I only find an empty space, an impression on the mattress where he should be. Where is he? Why did he leave? I know my husband; he would never and has never left me after making love. It isn't like him to just take off without so much as a warning. I look outside to see dark clouds looming; a storm is coming. James is leaving for Scotland in a matter of hours, and I need to be ready. I climb out of bed and get dressed, brushing my hair out, before I reassess my suitcases and bags. Everything is set.

I head out, bumping into my brother in the hallway. "James!" I exclaim. "James, hey! Have you seen Francis by any chance?"

"No, but last I heard, he was heading for the dungeons for some interrogation?" My brother's tone is highly skeptical as he speaks. "I don't know what Francis thinks he's doing, Mary, but I have reason to believe that he's been meddling in my own affairs."

"He wouldn't…"

"Yes, he would," he says harshly. "Face it. He doesn't want you to come with me to Scotland, so he's trying everything in his power to—"

"James, he told me that he's coming with me!"

"Yeah? That's also what he told me right before he pulled this disappearing act. Mary, I'm not waiting any longer. The private jet should be here soon. Meet me outside the castle, and then we can go." My brother doesn't wait for me to respond as he takes his leave of me. I swear to myself under my breath. _Fuck. _What the hell does Francis think he's doing? He's supposed to trust me! I run to the dungeons, my heels slamming into the ground. Already, I can hear the screams of agony echoing off the dungeon walls.

"Francis, what the hell are you doing?" I demand. Francis looks up towards me, shocked and startled by my appearance. "What the hell? James told me what you've been doing. Did you really have to lie to me, Francis? Did you have to play on my hopes like that?"

"Mary, it's not like that," he insists, making his way towards me. "Just hear me out. I got a confession from his mercenary. He said that he was hired by your brother to plant a bomb on the jet when you leave! A suicide bomber, Mary, working for James!" I stare at him, fury and disgust and disbelief rising within me.

"This is bullshit," I insist. "It has to be. Francis, why the hell should I trust your word over my brother's?" I shake my head, storming out of the cell. My husband follows. "James has no reason to want me dead! He's my brother, for god's sake! Why the hell don't you trust me?" I take a breath before I approach him, closing the distance between us. "Look, Francis. I need to take this chance. I have to. For Scotland and for my people. I'll be home soon. _Please trust me._" I reach out for him, stroking his cheek and running a hand down his chest. Francis encloses my hand in his, his expression unreadable. I nod slightly as I turn away, my hand leaving his.

"I can't," I hear him say under his breath. "Guards, surround the queen!" In an instant, I am encircled by the guards. I whip around towards Francis.

"What are you doing?" I demand.

* * *

"_Locked in the tower?" _I screech. "Did you think I would try to slink out of my rooms like a rat in the passageways?" Lightning flashes outside as thunder claps loudly, almost drowning out my words. Francis stands in the doorway solemnly. My fury gives way to hatred as I pace the length of my cell, giving my husband my most dangerous and venomous of glares.

"Not like a rat," Francis says calmly, "like a defiant queen. You will be released as soon as your brother has cast off. I told him we'd follow as soon as we could." How the fuck can he be so calm about this? Scotland is in danger and he has taken it upon himself to lock me in a tower like some damsel in distress!

"So you lied!"

"It is not a lie! Mary, when I know it is safe to travel—" I clench my fists at my side. It takes all the effort in the world not to slap him. Why couldn't he see what was at stake? Scotland is in danger now and I have to go now!

"It'll be too late!" I shout. "We both know that day will never come!" Francis draws towards me, meeting my eyes intently. I meet his stare, daring him to say whatever it is he means to say. After all, what more could he say that could possibly justify this bullshit? What could possibly justify locking me in a tower, knowing full well that my country is at risk?

"You may hate me right now, but I'm doing this for you!" he insists earnestly. "I love you and I've put you first!"

"_You love a girl!" _I scream. "_You don't love a queen or you'd allow me to be one! _You are putting yourself and your country first, just as you always have!"

"That is _not _true, and you know it!" Francis roars. We are nose to nose, screaming in each other's faces. Hot rage burns through me like a wildfire, destroying all in its path.

"IF SCOTLAND FALLS, I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!" I bellow. "YOU WILL LOSE MY COUNTRY AND YOU WILL LOSE ME! I WARNED YOU, FRANCIS. WE ARE ONE AND THE SAME!"

"Scotland won't fall, and neither will we!" he shouts. "Why can't you just trust me and believe that I'm doing this for you?"

"HAVE YOU EVER GIVEN A DAMN FOR SCOTLAND?" I challenge. "HAVE YOU? YOU CAN'T ANSWER THAT, BECAUSE—OH, RIGHT—YOU HAVEN'T! YOU'RE ALWAYS GOING TO PUT FRANCE ABOVE ME, ABOVE SCOTLAND!" I don't know what comes over me, but I make for the door hurriedly. Francis blocks my path as he grabs me, pushing me up against the stone wall. His grip is hard and firm, but not enough to hurt me. I fight and struggle against him, screaming all possible obscenities and even making up new ones at the top of my lungs. I beat at his chest with my fists and slap him across the face, but he makes no move against me. My husband's glare is colder than the wall at my back. Several minutes pass until I finally relent, and he steps away from me, releasing me.

"Are you done?" he asks testily. He turns away from me and leaves the cell, shutting the door on his way out. "I'll be back when you've had a chance to calm down."

"Oh, so that's it?" I challenge. "You're just going to leave me here? You just can't leave me locked in here!" Even as I say the words, there is the audible jolt of the door being locked from the outside. Francis's expression is no longer cold nor angry, but filled with remorse but also a firm decisiveness. "Francis! _Francis! _FRANCIS!" I can do nothing but watch as he turns his back to me and walks away. Not once does he look back.

* * *

I'm not sure how long I'm in the cell, but I know that a few hours have passed. All I can think of is Scotland. My mother is in danger—my country is in danger, and I can't do anything about it. I am the Queen of Scotland and I need to protect my people. At the very core of my being, I am Queen of Scots. My husband has just doomed my country. Scotland will fall—probably has fallen—and I could have stopped it. I _should _have stopped it.

There is a jolt by the door, and I know that it is Francis. The door swings open and my husband's voice is quiet and sincere when he speaks. I refuse to meet his eyes. Scotland has fallen because of his actions—because he took it upon himself to keep me from returning to my country.

"You're free to go," he says. "The jet has just taken off."

"Are you happy now?" I snarl. "You've just made sure that Scotland will fall." Francis takes several steps towards me and I step back until my back hits the wall. Our faces are only inches apart, the air pulsing with tension. I am suddenly very much aware of the pounding of my own heart. Only a few inches more, and his lips would be on mine.

"_I hate you," _I growl, "_and I will never forgive you for this." _I push past him, but he grabs me by the arm, pulling me back towards him. I slap him hard with so much force that he staggers back a few steps. We glare at each other for a few heated moments…and then the fuse is lit, as we come together, our lips coming together in a furious storm of passion and anger and hatred.

"_Fuck you_," I hiss between searing kisses. "_You fucking son of a bitch." _I bite down on his lower lip, pulling aggressively as we begin to undress each other. Francis's hands are all over my body: fondling my breasts, groping my ass and even reaching between my legs. We shed each other's clothes until there is nothing left, all our clothes and layers of fabric falling away from our bodies into a growing pile of clothes along with our shoes. Francis kisses me again, his mouth hard on mine, before he lifts me up into his arms and pins me up against the wall. I lock my legs around his waist, my hands moving to grip his shoulders, as he begins to thrust. His thrusts are hard and powerful, each one bringing me closer to orgasm. Pleasure surges through me and I scream in rapture, wrapping my arms around him. My scream is drowned out by the booms of thunder outside. I hide my face in Francis's shoulder, biting and kissing at his neck. I rake a hand through his hair, growling viciously in his ear. I take his face in my hands as I kiss him again. Francis's tongue parts my lips and pushes forcefully inside my mouth, and I rise to the challenge as our tongues dance against one another. His powerful hands roam up and down my bare back as he breaks our kiss. I shudder in ecstasy as he trails hot open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck.

"_Fuck, Mary!" _he groans between kisses. He carries me away from the wall, gently setting me down on the ground. Fire burns throughout my very being at his every kiss, his every touch, his every caress. I arch my back, grinding against him as our hips rock together in a sensual, carnal tempo. Francis thrusts vigorously in swift, hard strokes as he fucks deeper inside me. I rub up against him, my breasts pressing against his chest, and he growls in approval. I tilt my head back and moan, enjoying the delicious friction we are creating for one another. Francis breaks our kiss as he adorns kisses across my body. Intense pleasure courses through me as he worships me with his mouth. I writhe and moan at his touch, my back arching up. He runs his hands up my legs, trailing them up to my thighs as he slithers himself down my body, peppering searing open-mouthed kisses to each and every bit of skin he finds. I continue to rub against him, already beginning to feel the buildup to orgasm rise inside me. He kisses the valley between my breasts, nuzzling, his soft curls brushing against my bare skin. Pleasure storms throughout me in hot flashes of lightning, cutting across the sky.

"_I still hate you," _I growl. Slowly and deliberately, Francis kisses the inside of my thigh before he plucks my secret flower with his tongue. "Don't think that this changes any—_oh! Francis! Francis! Francis!" _My words are lost as the sensation of orgasm takes over. A scream slips past my lips as he delivers a new thrust, hard and deep. My fingernails claw at his chest as our lips come together hungrily. Our tongues clash, entangling with one another in a familiar and furious dance. I wrap my legs around Francis's back, drawing our entangled bodies closer together, if possible.

"Damn you, Mary!" Francis rasps. "Damn you!" He takes my lower lip between his teeth and pulls as he thrusts, sending another orgasm sweeping over me.

"Fuck me, Francis," I moan. "Fuck me now." The fire in my loins spreads throughout my body as his thrusts become harder, faster and deeper. I meet his sharp thrusts with my own, my fingernails digging into his back. Lightning blazes outside, accompanied by several cracks of thunder. Our moans mix together, sweat pouring down our bodies. I cradle his face between my hands as he tears his mouth away from mine, making for my neck as he plunges deeper and harder into my heat. I open my mouth to whisper his name but instead, a string of incoherent random vowels comes out instead. Francis worships me at my very altar, cupping one breast in his hand while he ravishes the other with his mouth. I shudder and gasp as he fucks deeper into me, rounding my hands around his back and gripping tight. Our bodies move together as one with a growing need. Passion. Anger. The two are not so different. I cry out as another orgasm rocks me, but Francis silences me with a kiss. He brushes against that sweet spot deep within me and I tug at another fistful of his hair, turning my head to the side as I cry out his name. I'm addicted to this, to him, to his lovemaking. The air is filled with the musky scent of sex; the insides of my thighs are wet and warm with his hot seed.

"Mary!" he groans. "Fuck!"

"I hate you," I rasp. "I hate you so fucking much." Francis pushes into me and pulls out slightly before plunging back inside me, harder. Hard, sensual, and delicious. He kisses me fully and, keeping my fist in his hair, I dig my nails into his shoulders with my other hand. He growls in both pain and pleasure, still keeping our lips together. Our hips snap together erratically and of their own accord as we ride out the wave of pleasure. We finish together, screaming in unison, our bodies sheened in sweat. Francis gently sinks down on me, burying his face lazily and sleepily in my neck as our orgasms ebb away. I close my eyes, putting my arms around him. All of our fury dissipates as we hold each other tenderly for several long moments. Francis pulls himself out of me, removing himself from my arms, and rolls onto his side. I remain lying on my back as I try to catch my breath. I bring a hand to my brow, turning my head to look towards my husband.

"I'm sorry, Mary," he says quietly. Not for fucking me, but for locking me in this tower against my will. I shake my head sadly as I rub my hands through my hair in frustration. _Fuck! _How am I supposed to rule a nation – two nations – if I can't even control myself?

"This was a mistake," I say quickly, propping myself upright.

"Maybe we should keep making mistakes," Francis suggests. I throw his clothes at him, my anger rejuvenating me.

"_Get out." _

* * *

Scotland has indeed fallen, and it's Francis's fault. I could have stopped it. I _should_ have stopped it – but he had taken it upon himself to lock me in the tower, knowing full well what was at stake. And now my country has lost its freedom because of him.

"Mary, I'm sorry." Francis's voice comes from behind me, but I don't turn around to face him. Tears streak down my cheeks as I stare desolately out the window from our quarters. "I honestly didn't know. If I had—"

"If you had known, you would have let me go?" I challenge. "Don't give me that bullshit, Francis. You still would have done what you did. It would've changed nothing."

"I did what I did because I love you!"

"Right. Because you love me," I say coldly. I chuckle humorlessly, shaking my head as I turn to face him. My vision is a film of tears. "Maybe that's the problem, Francis. You love me and because you love me, you just cost my country her freedom!" I've seen the footage. I've seen the footage on the news of England's military storming through Scotland, killing those who fight back and setting people's homes and businesses on fire all while the Tudor rose is held above them all. "I've made an awful mistake. _Our marriage_ was an awful mistake!"

"Please don't say that!" Francis pleads. His azure eyes glisten with unshed tears as he approaches me.

"There were a thousand moments where I could've done something," I say. "Made secret treaties, sold favors…even snuck away to Scotland to be with those people who need me. Do you know why I didn't? Because I love you…because I'm your wife." I brush my hands under my eyes, wiping my tears. I shake my head sadly. "But it doesn't matter anymore now, does it? My people have lost their freedom because of your choice, Francis. Blood will be spilled because of the choice you have made." I'm crying openly now as I make no more effort to conceal my tears.

"Mary, please. If I could take it back—"

"What? You would?" I interject. "We are rulers, Francis, not schoolchildren! I told you that my country and I are one and the same, but you didn't listen. This marriage….this marriage is over. I will remain here in France and we will continue to work together as king and queen, but I will be your wife in name only. I will book a flight to Scotland as soon as I can and I will fight to regain my country's freedom."

"I can't do that!" he cries. "I won't." A single tear creeps down his cheek, but his voice is steady. "We are not my parents, and I refuse to be them. And in the end, my father killed my mother." His voice breaks at the end, tears steadily sliding from his eyes.

"We wouldn't be the first rulers to do so, Francis."

"No! Mary, please. Don't do this, I am _begging_ you. Please. I would do _anything _for you! Do you hear me? I love you…and you love me." I can hear his despair, his desperation of losing someone else…of losing me. His voice catches as he speaks and my heart breaks in my breast. This is no easier on me as it is on him. It's like two parts of me are tearing themselves apart as they pull away, leaving nothing but devastation in their wake.

"And look where that love has brought us."


	27. Beautiful Stars Die Tonight

_And look where that love has brought us._ My words hang heavy between the two of us. We stare at each other, our faces streaked with tears, as reality begins to set in. "Francis, I'm sorry," I choke on a sob, "but I just…I can't do this anymore."

"Isn't there anything I can do to fix this, Mary?" he asks. "Please, just give me another chance." _Another chance? After letting my country fall? _

"Well, that's just it," I say. "You blew it. There's nothing you can do." I wipe my tears with the back of my hand as I try to recompose myself. "You can see yourself out," I add coldly, and then I show Francis my back as I make my leave. I close the door behind me; my vision is blurred with tears. I push my way through the crowd in the hall, keeping my head down so as to hide my tears. Sobs threaten to burst out of my chest, but I refuse to let my people see my grief. I can't. _You are a queen, _I remind myself. _Queens don't cry in front of their people. _Nobody can know about what has transpired between me and Francis. It has to stay between us. I manage to find an empty guest room, much to my relief. I hurry inside, slamming the door behind me just as my legs give out. The door kisses my back as I slide to the floor, and I cry. I cry in anger, in grief for my country and what she has lost, and I cry for myself and for my husband. Almost a year of marriage….gone. A part of me, I suppose, has always known that our duties to our countries would eventually tear us apart. I just never would have guessed that it would come so soon.

_Marrying Francis was a mistake, _a spiteful part of me insists. _He cost you your country. _Another part of me knows this isn't true, yet at the same time, how can I possibly forgive him? I've given him my word that I will stay in France, but promises can be broken. I learned as much when we went back on his word to accompany me to Scotland and instead locked me in a tower. Scotland needs me more than France ever will. I've done my queenly and wifely duty to my husband. His child flourishes in my womb and within months, I will bring them into the world.

_Goodbye, Francis. _

* * *

I spend the rest of the day making preparations and saying my goodbyes. I make a point in trying to avoid Francis, for I haven't told him of my plans and I don't intend on letting him again prevent me from returning to Scotland. I return to my rooms and begin packing my belongings when I hear Francis's voice come from the doorway.

"You're leaving?" he asks in disbelief.

"Yes, I am," I say tersely, refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm going back home to Scotland. My people need me. What are you going to do about it, Francis? Lock me in a tower again?" Silence. I give a shake of my head and turn around to face him. "I can't do this, Francis. You. Me. Us. Face it, we do really bad things when we're together. We're bad for one another. Maybe it's best that we…go our separate ways."

"You don't honestly believe that, do you?" Francis presses. He takes several steps towards me, but I put my hands up in a _back off _gesture. "Mary, _I love you_!"

"That's why I need you to let me go," I tell him. "If you love me, let me go. I'll drive myself to the airport….because if I let you take me, I'm going to spend the entire car ride thinking about your hand next to mine and I won't be able to stop myself from taking it or from letting you kiss me goodbye. We're never going to get to where we need to go, okay? We're just going to end up right back here where we started."

"Are you trying to tell me that there is still another chance for us? Or have I lost you forever?" I force myself to meet his stare. Has he lost me forever? He's the reason my country is no longer free. I can't forgive him for that, no matter how much I love him.

"Yes, Francis," I say bluntly. "You have lost me forever." Francis nods slowly and runs his hands through his hair as my words sink in. "Once I leave, you and I will not see each other again for a very long time."

"What about our baby?" he asks. "You don't mean to keep our child away from their father, do you? Do you, Mary? Do you really resent me so much that you're going to take my child away from me?"

_Yes, I do. _I don't answer and return to my suitcases, zipping them up and assessing that everything is in order. "Please, just…don't make this harder than it already is. Just let me go." My voice softens and I look down towards my feet, away from my husband's pained eyes. He approaches me, gently taking my face between his hands. I begin to shake my head in earnest. "No, no, Francis…"

"Shhh, shhh, Mary," he murmurs. I reach for him, holding his wrists, and his lips caress my forehead. I stroke his face; his cheeks are warm and wet. A lump forms in my throat and my vision blurs. I don't trust myself to speak. "Is this what you want?" he asks quietly. I nod mutely, wiping some of his tears with my fingers. _I love you, Francis. _His lips brush against my forehead gently, and afterwards, he presses our heads together. "Travel safe," my husband whispers. My hands fall to his heart and he reaches for me, covering my hands in his. I can already feel my resolve weakening. A part of me wants him to take me into his arms again and make love to me until I know nothing else, but I know that I need to leave. For both of our sakes and for my people. My people, who need their queen. Our fingers entwine, slowly pulling apart from one another as I turn my back to Francis and walk away.

* * *

I don't remember the drive to the airport, let alone the flight to Scotland. Tears spill down my cheeks and sobs threaten to choke me. The feeling of Francis's mouth and body hard on mine from our lovemaking in the tower is still fresh in my mind. As furious as I am with him, I still love him…and I miss him. My lover, my husband, my Dom, my king….the father of my child. I will rule Scotland alone, with nobody to trust except for my mother and my brother. _You can trust them, _I remind myself. _Francis was wrong about James. He was wrong. James is not a traitor. He has always supported you and your cause. _

"Mary!" I jerk, startled, and turn around to see my brother jogging over to me. "Mary, what are you doing here? I had no idea you were coming!"

"I heard about the attack and I just had to come back," I explain. I shake my head. "God, James, you were right. About the French and my husband and the attack…I wish I could have been able to come with you."

"Why didn't you?" asks James.

"My husband locked me in a tower," I say bitterly. "He locked me up against my will and went so far as to claim that one of your mercenaries was to plant a bomb on your private jet to kill me. It's over between me and Francis, James. We're finished. I will bear his child here in Scotland."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"You mean wiser than staying with a husband who won't even allow me to rule over my own country?" I snap. "I'm not returning to France until my people are free." My brother nods and as we walk to his car, he fills me in on the details on Scotland's situation. By the time he's finished, I'm seething with rage. At Francis or at England, I'm not entirely sure. I place a hand over the small swell of my belly, as if to shield my baby from the England's fury. I won't let my child grow up in a world where the enemy reigns.

"Is there anything else I should know?" I ask him.

"The Bourbons are gaining more power, Mary," he tells me. "Louis and Elizabeth…word is that they've sealed a marriage pact. An alliance which gives Louis so much more power both here and a foothold in France."

"Where are they?" I demand. "Are they in France?" _Did I just make a mistake in coming here? _ If anything, Louis would be seen as a usurper to the throne of France with England's armies at his beck and call. He would have the chance to besiege France and take the throne for himself.

"No, Mary, they aren't," says James slowly. "They're at court. Scottish court." My blood runs cold. I'm not sure who I'm more afraid of: Louis, who is obsessed with me and tried to have me raped, or Elizabeth, my cousin and my rival. _I declared war on her the moment I staked my claim to England. She sees me as a threat. _"Mary, be careful. Your child only strengthens your claim to England and if anything, Elizabeth is going to want you dead."

"I know," I say dryly. "When I came back to France, she sent an assassin after me. Things have changed now. How's Mother?"

"She's doing okay," he tells me, "but she has almost no power. The people are on the verge of rebellion, and it could mean war."

"I'm not going to suppress my people's insurgence, James," I say firmly. "I came here to free my people, and I will do just that. I am a queen, and I won't let another day go by where my people aren't free."

* * *

"_Hail Mary of the House of Stuart, First of Her Name, by the Grace of God, Queen of Scots and France!" _ I enter the castle with everyone's eyes upon me. I scan the crowd for my mother, but she is nowhere in sight. A part of me half-expects either Louis or Elizabeth to make an appearance. I know they won't, however. The media has been scrutinizing the political affairs of France, Scotland and England and it would not do to fire any speculation. The walls are decorated in tapestries of the Tudor rose, much to my revulsion. This may be my court still, but the presence of the English is unavoidable. I make my way to the throne room and my people follow me. My eyes drift to the vacant throne next to mine and I close my eyes, trying to banish the image of Francis at my side. I take a seat upon my throne as my people watch me, waiting for me to speak.

"I realize that, as your queen, I have much to learn – for I have spent a lot of time ruling in France with my husband," I begin, "but I promise you, I will not fail you. You will have your freedom again, I swear to you…and the English will rue the day they crossed us." My words are received with a thunderous applause as everyone kneels before me. One of the lords says under his breath, "Your Majesty, we have waited a long time for you to rise."

* * *

Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. My child continues to grow in my womb and Scotland is openly rebelling against the English presence. The Bourbons and the Tudors' influence has spread and I can't help but feel a sense of dread, as they have yet to make a move against France. In two months, France and Scotland will have an heir. I have heard nothing from Francis since I left him; a part of me is glad, but another part of me is worried. Four months have gone by and I don't know how he is. I don't know how by absence has impacted France. Before my departure, we had been working together to find out who has been blackmailing him over his murder of his father. I've yet to hear if any progress in the investigation has led to any answers.

"Mary, have you been listening to a word I have said?" my mother asks, startling me out of my thoughts.

"Sorry, Mother," I say. "I'm just…I've been worried about Francis. I know that I chose to leave him, but I still love him." I cover my swollen belly with my hands, stroking my unborn child. The sensation of butterfly wings in my womb has become frequent as my little one moves around and kicks inside of me. I have indeed gotten an ultrasound; my little one is happy and healthy. _I wish Francis were here. I want to tell him myself everything about our child. _My mother is strangely quiet. I stare at her pointedly as fear washes over me. This isn't like her to keep things from me.

"What are you not telling me?" I ask slowly. "Is it about my husband?"

"Yes, Mary, it is." Tears of horror sting in my eyes, blurring my vision, and my mother takes my hands in hers in earnest. "I only learned about this last night, and I wasn't sure how to tell you."

"_Tell me!" _

"Francis collapsed three days ago," she says solemnly. "From what I've gathered, his fever is still high and he bleeds from his ear. Mary, I'm sorry. Your husband is dying."


	28. In Sickness Till Death Do Us Part

Francis is dying. My husband is dying. I slowly rise from my seat, my hands splayed over my belly, desperately trying to blink back tears. I don't trust myself to speak, for fear that I'll break down crying and be unable to stop. My emotions are a storm of confusion; I'm furious towards my mother for keeping the news of my husband's illness from me. I can't believe that this is happening. It can't be true. All I can think of is Nostradamus's prophecy and what he said to me all those months ago.

_He will die a year into your marriage, _he had said to me. _You will be wed, but childless. You will blame yourself most of all, and you won't have a friend to comfort you. _All of these months I had chosen to ignore his words and listen to Francis's logic and reason. I didn't want to face it and I still don't—but I have to. It's real and as much as I want to, I can't avoid it anymore. I give my mother a pointed look, my anger bleeding out over my other emotions. Tears streak relentlessly down my cheeks. This can't be happening, it can't.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I demand. My voice catches on a sob and I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, desperate to regain composure. "Why couldn't you tell me my husband was dying before? Why tell me this now, Mother?"

"I didn't want to hurt you, Mary," she says. "You seemed so happy over the baby and I didn't want to ruin that. Ever since you left Francis, you were unbearably sad and I—"

"It doesn't matter anymore," I interrupt briskly. "I'm going back to France. I'm not going to let my husband die alone."

"No, Mary, absolutely not!" Mother shouts. "You're not leaving, not now! You can't leave while England still holds sway over us! Unless, of course, you're planning on taking Francis's armies behind his back?" I stop dead in my tracks at her words. _Oh my…oh fuck. _I haven't even thought about that. Could I bring myself to break my husband's trust like that? Do I even want to?

"You're not going to stop me," I say coldly. "I'm going to catch the next flight to Scotland. I don't know how long I'll be staying there, but I'm not going to leave my husband alone to die."

* * *

Quiet. The quiet is the first thing I notice as I again walk the halls of the Louvre. It is the same kind of quiet that fell upon the castle after Bash's murder and later, the deaths of Catherine and Henri. I make my way to my and Francis's bedchambers; I am in no way prepared for what I find waiting for me. My husband is unconscious, but he appears as though he is asleep. Some of the nobles stand by the doorway as they look on. They are startled by my appearance, but this I ignore. All I can see is my husband and Claude, as she sits by his side and clutches his hand in hers. I pay no mind to the noblemen as they take their leave of us.

"Claude?" I say quietly, slowly approaching her. "Oh my god, Claude, I—" My sister-in-law rises from her seat and turns to face me. Her face is streaked with tears and in her eyes is a cold anger. "I am so sorry."

"Is that all you have to say, Mary?" she hisses.

"Excuse me?" I'm shocked by her fury. Why is she so angry with me? What's brought all of this on? Not just her anger, but Francis's illness? "Claude, what is going on? Why—"

"Why is my brother sick, you mean?" Claude shouts. "God, Mary, _are you fucking clueless_? Tell me, how was Francis before he collapsed? Was he eating properly? Did he show any odd symptoms?" I don't respond. Tears burn in my eyes, threatening to spill down my cheeks. "Oh, wait. You can't answer any of that, Mary, because _you haven't been here with him! You have chosen not to be a wife to my brother! _And for what reason? Because he was trying to protect you from yourself when he locked you in the tower?"

"Claude, please—"

"My brother has lost so much over this past year, as have I!" she shrieks. "Bash, Mother, Father…they're all dead! He lost them all…but you? You were supposed to stand by him—not abandon him! Oh, am I upsetting you? Should I not suggest that you're to blame? Francis was devastated when you left, Mary. I just never thought he would die of a broken heart." She hastily wipes her tears off her face. "I don't give a damn that you left for Scotland. Was it worth it, Mary? Think about it. Think about what you're going to tell your child when they ask why they won't have a father." Claude takes a deep and shaky breath and, without another word, she storms out of the room. I can't help but jump as she slams the door behind her. I blink back my own tears as I sit down at my husband's bedside, taking his hand in mine.

"I know you're very far away right now, Francis," I say quietly, "but I need you to fight. I don't want to lose you…I can't." My words catch on a sob. "And…neither can our daughter." I smile sadly as I take his cold hand and place it on the plane of my belly. "She's kicking, Francis. Our daughter…our little Anne. She's happy and she's healthy, and…and I can't do this without you, okay? I can't and I don't want to! I am so sorry for the pain I've caused you. Before I left, you asked me if you'd lost me forever. I lied. I lied, okay? I love you—I've _always_ loved you—and I need you to come back to me." I bow my head and sob openly now. There are no words that can possibly describe what it feels like: the pain of losing the man you love. "Please, Francis….come back to me." I don't know how long I cry, but it feels like hours pass. The doctor enters the room suddenly, startling me out of my thoughts.

"How is he?" I ask. "Is he going to be okay?" _I can't lose him. Our daughter can't lose him. _He makes his way over to my husband, examining him. "Is my husband going to die?"

"It looks as though the bleeding in his ear has stopped," says the doctor, "but the next few hours are critical. The fever may still take him."

"He's not going to die," I insist desperately, shaking my head. "He can't. Francis is a fighter, he's strong! He's not going to die and I won't let him!" I'm nearly shrieking by the end. I bow my head and hide my face in my hands as sobs wrack me. I can't even begin to fathom living without Francis. I can't even begin to fathom the idea of raising our daughter without him. Have we really had our last conversation? Shared our last kiss? Made love for the last time? I press my fingers to my lips, remembering. There had been one night during our honeymoon that I would always remember. It was night and the stars were dancing across the sky. We'd visited one of the stables, wanting to take a moonlit ride together, but we had ended up making love in the hayloft. Afterwards, we took two of the horses out and rode across a field of crimson roses and we made love again under the stars.

"Your Majesty?" I look up, wiping my tears, to see Stefan de Narcisse standing in front of me. "Should I leave?"

"What are you even doing here?" I ask, puzzled.

"I suppose that if Francis dies, the truth dies with him," he says cryptically. I slowly rise from my seat, approaching him.

"The truth?" I demand. "Whatever it is you have to say to me, either say it or get out! No, say it and then get out!" Narcisse reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small device. _An audio recorder, _I realize. He presses a button, and I listen.

"_I did it to protect you and the baby. After Bash died, I refused to believe that my father was mad. I couldn't…I couldn't make sense of any of it. I just needed some other explanation for why he did what we did, you know? I wanted so badly to believe that, despite everything he had done, he was still my father. I just hate that it took him murdering my mother for me to realize what a monster he'd become, Mary. He killed my mother and hurt you. He could have killed you and our baby just as easily. I just…every night, I see my father. He haunts me in my dreams, and every time I close my eyes, I relive that night when I killed him." _

"You fucking son of a bitch," I snarl. "It's been you this entire time, hasn't it? Threatening my husband? You're the one who sent him that knife, aren't you? Why are you just now coming forward about this, Narcisse?"

"There's nothing stopping me from bringing this confession to the authorities, Mary," he tells me pointedly. "Your husband would be convicted of regicide and you would be overthrown. If Francis dies before the day is done, however, then what's the point?"

"I would be forced to return to Scotland and this would all be for nothing," I say coldly. "I promise you this, Narcisse, when my husband wakes up he _will _know of this and there will be no saving you. What the hell do you want from us? Money?"

"I want what's best for France!" Narcisse roars. "You and your husband are usurpers, killing King Henri for your own ends."

"Get the hell out," I growl. "I won't ask twice." Stefan relents and walks away, but not before giving me a dangerous glare. I sink back into my seat and I bow my head as I sob bitterly. I don't know what to do. Narcisse is a threat to me and to Francis and to our rule and Scotland is in dire need of assistance. Assistance that only France can provide, but can I do that? Can I take Francis's armies behind his back and liberate Scotland? The prospect is tempting. I wipe my tears off my face and take several deep breaths, covering Francis's hand in mine. I sit there with him in silence; I refuse to leave him. Nothing but death will make me leave his side. I can't leave him to die alone. I won't. I'm not sure how much time passes, but I must have fallen asleep, for the first thing I feel when I wake up is Francis's touch. His fingers curl around mine and squeeze gently. I raise my head up to see him looking down upon me tiredly.

"Francis…?" I gasp. "Oh my god, Francis!" Tears of relief blind me and before I know what's happening, I'm sobbing.

"Am I…dreaming?" he asks sleepily. I hurriedly shoot out of my seat and fling the door open, screaming for Claude.

* * *

"It's a miracle you're even awake right now, Your Majesty," says the doctor to Francis, "but we're glad you're okay." Claude and I sit on opposite sides of the bed; her anger towards me is coming off in waves. I refuse to meet her stare. "I've prescribed to you these antibiotics, should your illness return. Take two pills each night and every morning to keep it at bay. For now, just take it easy for a while until you regain your strength."

"Thank you," Francis replies. The doctor takes his leave and my husband shifts his attention to his sister. "Can I have a moment alone with my wife?" he asks her. Claude nods and rises out of her seat, walking away from us and out of the room.

"Francis, I'm sorry," I blurt. "I am so sorry. For everything. For everything I said and did before I left…I love you, okay? I—"

"If you love me, then why did you leave?"

"I was hurt and I was angry," I confess. "Francis, please. We have to work this out—if not for ourselves, but for our daughter." I'm pleading with him now. "Please, give me another chance. _Please_." I take his hand in mine. My husband hesitates briefly before he covers my hand in his.

"Our…daughter?" he whispers. I nod, splaying a hand over the bulge of my belly. "We're having a princess?"

"Our little girl, Francis," I tell him. Francis smiles and I take his hand, guiding it to my belly. "She's been kicking." Butterfly wings flutter from my womb as I speak. "Do you feel her?" Francis nods. For several long moments, we sit in silence, marveling over the sensation of our unborn daughter moving in my womb. It is Francs who ultimately breaks the silence.

"I've been doing some thinking," he says, "about Scotland and her situation. I'm going to send some troops."

"You…what?" I stammer. "Francis—"

"Your country will be free again, Mary," my husband vows. "I know that my actions cost Scotland her independence. The least I can do is try to set things right." I am tempted to ask him if he regrets having locked me in the tower, but I decide against it. I don't want to argue right now. I want things to go back to the way they were before. I want what's best for our daughter.

"Thank you," I say quietly. "I mean it, thank you." Francis smiles sadly, meeting my eyes.

"My country made a promise to yours—and we are both stronger when we honor our promises. You got what you wanted, Mary. Scotland's salvation. I've made my choice. I hope you like yours."


	29. Anne

I can feel the distance between me and Francis growing with each passing moment, and I can't help but feel that it's my fault. We may have agreed to try to work past our issues for the sake of our daughter, but I can't help but feel that we're moving onto separate, diverging paths. I hate to admit it, but it scares me. These thoughts occupy my mind as we prepare ourselves to see the day out.

"Francis?" I ask. "Can we talk for a minute?" My husband swivels his head towards me. His expression is indifferent. I've learned to expect this from him. Reconnecting with him was never going to be easy, but we're doing it for our daughter. It's all for her.

"Sure," he says. "What's on your mind, Mary?"

"I can't do this anymore," I blurt. "This distance between us…what good will it accomplish? I don't want us to become your parents, but I feel like we already are." I shake my head sadly, chucking humorlessly. My husband's expression softens as he listens to me. "Your mother would say that we are stained by the choices we have made, but I don't think that's true."

"I can't do this, either," confesses Francis quietly, closing the distance between us. "I can't live like this, with us so far apart." It's only been days since he woke, but the gap between us is greater than I could have imagined. It's like we're married, but we're strangers to each other.

"Then stop shutting me out!" I insist. "Why are you shutting me out? Please, Francis, I don't want it to be like this between us." Francis opens his mouth to reply when I feel it. _Oh god…oh no, not now not now not now oh god please not now. _I wrap a hand around the curve of my belly and double over, gasping.

"Mary! Mary, what is it?" my husband demands. He is at my side and I lean against him, struggling for breath. The inside of my womb is being cut open with knives and the pain is like fire.

"_It's…fuck, it's too early!" _I scream. "_My water broke—she's coming!_" I lean against the bedpost and scream in agony as my husband dials 911. I'm barely paying attention to what's going on as he wraps my arm about his shoulders. The walk to the car is agonizing, as is the ride to the hospital. I can't see through my tears nor the blinding pain of my contractions.

"It's going to be okay, Mary!" Francis assures me. "You're going to be okay. We're all going to be fine!" He slams his palm on the horn. "_Hurry the fuck up! My wife's going into labor!" _he roars at the traffic ahead of us. I lean my head back against the seat, gasping for breath. I close my eyes and let Francis take control. The horn blares multiple times before we are suddenly swerving through the streets of France. My contractions cut through me ruthlessly.

"_Francis, help me!" _I shriek. "_Francis!" _

"I'm going as fast as I can!" he shouts. "Just a little bit longer, Mary! We're almost there!" I nod wordlessly, tears streaming down my cheeks. "Breathe, Mary, breathe!" Francis's knuckles are white as he clutches the steering wheel. It seems an eternity before we finally reach the hospital. I am placed on a stretcher and hauled into the ER, with Francis at my side. Francis clutches my hand, murmuring words of assurance, comfort, and encouragement.

"Come on, Your Majesty, push!" the nurses urge. And I push. I push with all my strength. I hold onto my husband's hand as though it is my last lifeline. I scream and curse and cry, all while drawing strength from Francis. Beads of sweat pour down my body as I push. My body shakes with uncontrollable tremors. I can feel Francis shaking as he holds my hand. He kisses my knuckles, holding on tight. It isn't until hours later that we finally hear it: the familiar crying of a newborn baby. The umbilical cord is cut before the nurse places the child in our arms.

"You have a daughter, Francis!" I sob. Francis leans towards me and kisses me deeply, shaking. I turn to the nurse. "Is she going to be okay? Is our daughter going to be okay?" I shriek shrilly. I'm torn between relief that I had no complications during labor, joy that I have a daughter, and utter terror that something may be wrong with her, that my little Anne may be sick of perhaps even dying because she was born prematurely.

"She's going to have to stay in the NICU for a while, Your Majesties," the nurse tells me as she takes my daughter out of my arms. "We need to make sure that she's healthy and out of the woods before you can take her home."

"How long is that going to be?" Francis demands, wiping his tears off his face. "How is she?" The nurse shakes her head.

"I'll be back in a few minutes and I'll tell you everything," she promises before walking out of the room, taking our daughter with her. Tears streak down my cheeks as I let out a choked gasp. Francis's face is wet with tears as well as we stare at each other in shock. I burst out into broken sobs and my husband pulls me close, letting me weep on his shoulder. He holds me close, winding his hand through my hair.

"She's going to be fine," he murmurs shakily. "Anne's going to be fine. Our daughter's going to be just fine, I promise." Francis kisses my hair. I can feel him shaking with quiet sobs as we hold each other.

"I can't lose her!" I sob. "I can't lose her, she's all I have!"

"Shhh, shhh," my husband whispers. "It's alright." I don't know how long we hold one another, but the nurse knocks on the doorframe after what feels like forever. We pull apart from each other then.

"How is she?" I ask. "How is our daughter?"

"Anne is two months premature, Your Majesty," she explains. "Her reflexes are good and she's neither overweight nor underweight at just about one pound, but…she's not breathing on her own. She'll be in the NICU for ten weeks before she'll be allowed to go home. She needs more time to develop. She has respiratory distress syndrome—RDS."

"What does that mean?" I demand.

"It means that she can't take in enough oxygen," the nurse tells me. "She's on a breathing machine right now. It'll be a while before she'll be able to breathe on her own."

"Take me to her. I want to see my daughter," I snap. "Where are my clothes?"

"Mary, are you sure you're ready to get back up on your feet?" Francis questions. I nod. Nothing will stand between me and my daughter.

"Let's go."

* * *

The oxygen tubes are the first thing I notice upon seeing my daughter. She's small, but peaceful. I reach out for her, but my hands only find the glass barrier between us. Francis's hand is on my shoulder, squeezing gently. I reach for him and I return the pressure as tears spill over down my cheeks.

"She's going to be okay," he assures me. "She just needs a little more time and a little help. In just a few weeks, she'll be breathing on her own." I turn to face him and he massages my arms reassuringly, loosening the tension in my body.

"I'm just so worried," I say. "What if the doctors missed something? What if Anne's never going to get better? What if we lose her?" My head is spinning with possibilities, each one worse than the last. I shake my head furiously. "I can't do that, Francis. I can't lose her!"

"We're not going to lose her," he assures me. "The doctors say that all she needs is a few weeks in the NICU so she can learn to breathe on her own. She's going to be okay, Mary. I promise." He runs his knuckle down my cheek and I can't help but melt into his touch. "It's going to be okay," my husband whispers.

I nod mutely and I let him hold me in the silence.

* * *

Every day, Francis and I go to the hospital to check on and be with Anne. The weeks drag on agonizingly, for I can't shake my sense of dread that something will go wrong with Anne's lung problem. Claude accompanies us to the hospital on some days, eager to see her niece and wanting to be there for Francis. I know she still resents me and blames me for Francis's illness. The distance between me and Francis seems to be growing smaller and smaller. We both want the same thing: for Anne to be okay.

"Francis," I say as we prepare to leave for the hospital. "Can we talk for a moment?" My husband turns around to face me, his expression soft.

"What's on your mind, Mary?" he asks.

"I'm sorry. For everything," I blurt. "For leaving you and for everything that's happened since. You have every right to be angry with me, to hate me—"

"After you left," admits Francis, "I was almost certain I would never see you again. I was so, so angry and so hurt that at the time I couldn't even conceive the mere possibility of forgiving you. I thought, if anything, it would take years." He smiles sadly and gives a shake of his head. I close the distance between us, taking a few steps towards him.

"I'll wait," I tell him, "even if it takes that long. Not because we're wed or because I have nowhere else to go…but because I love you. Your mother would say that the choices we've made define us. Such brutal and difficult choices we've made, but we can only do our best. Can we not make another choice, one equally hard, but so important? To commit our hearts to each other, no matter what? If not for ourselves, for Anne. For our daughter."

"If only it were that easy," he says with a tinge of sadness.

"It isn't," I say. "It's terrifying and nearly impossible, especially if we think we can save each other. We can't. Francis, we can only love each other." Our stares lock. Francis takes my hand in his and hope surges through me. He leans forward and presses his lips against mine in a deep, hungry kiss. I reciprocate the kiss with all the passion I have. Francis guides me to the bed and we slowly undress each other, wanting to savor every moment.

"God, I've missed you," I breathe.

"I missed you too," my husband whispers, "more than you know." He kisses me again and I widen my legs, accommodating for him, and I hold him close with my legs around his hips. I straddle his waist, wrapping my arms around him as he buries his face in the curve of my neck, pressing searing open-mouthed kisses along my skin. Our bodies come together naturally like two lost puzzle pieces. God, how I've missed him. I've missed feeling his touch, his love words murmured against my throat, his hands roaming about my body. I pull myself away and our lips come together in a desperate need. I rock myself against him, keeping one arm wrapped around him and the other holding his face. Keeping one hand on my lower back, he drops his other hand to reach my ass but I take his hand and instead place it on my breast. I tilt my head back and moan in ecstasy. Francis hides his face in the space between my breasts, kissing me there. He ravishes my breasts with his mouth: kissing, sucking and biting at the supple flesh. I comb my fingers through his lush curls, cradling his head to my chest.

Francis covers my mouth in his in a hot and possessive kiss, pushing me back onto the bed so I'm lying on my back. Breathless, we meet each other's eyes. He strokes my cheek with his thumb and sensually trails his fingers down my lips before he lowers himself and kisses me again. I wrap my arms around him and my fingers form knots in his curls. Our tongues dance together in an erotic tango. He tears his lips from mine and seeks my neck. I arch upward and sigh as hot pleasure surges through me. Francis ravishes me; he kisses my breasts and the valley between them. He kisses every patch of skin he can find—and I'm unable to bite back a moan as he bites my inner thigh. I writhe underneath him, begging for more. He drags his tongue over my clit and yanks me closer to him so he can furtherly worship me with his mouth. I curl my legs around him, digging the soles of my feet in his back and thrusting my hips upward. I reach a hand up to my brow and keep my other hand knotted in his hair. His tongue glides from my entrance and back to my clit again. The sensations of his tongue in my most intimate of places threaten to send me over the edge. He rubs his nose against my clit in a taunting fashion, driving his tongue deeper into me.

"Don't stop, Francis," I rasp. "Please…don't." I writhe beneath him as he kisses his way back up my body. He doesn't miss a single patch of skin before I catch his face between my palms and kiss him hungrily. Francis grips my thigh with one hand and he pulls me along with him as we roll, still maintaining our kiss. My hair falls in a curtain around us as he holds my face between his hands and kisses me again. He builds a rhythm between our bodies and it doesn't take long for me to catch on. Our cries of bliss resonate loudly off the walls. His hand drops from my back to my ass as we rock against each other. Our kisses turn into bites and I pull my mouth away from Francis's. My kisses turn to bites as I trail kisses along his jaw, making certain to leave my marks. Francis growls in contentment and he gathers a fistful of my hair in his hands. He guides me back towards his mouth and I oblige. His hand curves around my back again and we roll again. Francis buries himself in me, pulsing in and out of me in powerful strokes. We give and take from one another and I cry out as he brushes against my sweet spot deep within me. I arch my back against him and meet his every thrust with my own. I can feel myself losing control and I don't mind at all. My core tightens and a guttural cry bubbles up from my throat as my orgasm comes over me in waves.

"Cum for me, Mary," Francis says huskily. "You're so beautiful when you cum." I melt into him and my cry of rapture shatters the peaceful quiet of the day.


	30. Sacrifice

Francis and I rest in each other's arms with our limbs entangled under the sheets. The quiet and the stillness of the day is soothing and peaceful. He strokes my bare back; his fingers dance across my skin like a feather. I prop my head up and he turns to meet my eyes.

"I will love you for the rest of my life," I promise, "and I will never let you go again." I lean forward and kiss him softly and lazily. I rub our noses together playfully and giggle. Francis pulls me into another kiss and he rolls atop of me, settling his full weight down upon me. I reach for him, feeling the hard firmness of his muscular chest beneath my palms.

"Claude is going to kill us if we don't get to the hospital," I rebuke teasingly. We have always had amazing sex together and this morning was no exception. The last time he made love to me was after he'd released me from the tower…but then I left. I left France and in doing so, I left him.

"My sister can wait a little bit longer," Francis tells me. He kisses the base of my throat and the space between us, or lack thereof, is electric. _Fuck. _I feel like a terrible mother, putting off seeing Anne just to spend a few more minutes in bed with Francis…but _god, _I've missed him so much. We've lost so much time together and Francis could have died. He almost did die! I'm never letting him go again—not if I can help it.

"Can Anne?" I ask pointedly. Francis chuckles and kisses me tenderly. The kiss is soft but at the same time, it's sensual and erotic. I open my mouth under his and our tongues collide together. One kiss becomes two and two becomes an entanglement of tongues and our naked bodies between the sheets. Francis's kisses are a taste of what's to come, as they always are. There is no telling of what's in store for me. Sometimes, his lovemaking is wild and passionate and unyielding and others it is slow and gentle—but one thing stays the same: he loves me. We've been through so much together—an attempted assassination, Olivia and her attempts to win Francis back, Tomas and his abusive dominion over me, Nostradamus's prophecy, a mad king and the deaths of Bash and Catherine… We've been to hell and back.

"Just a few more minutes, Mary," Francis purrs, "and then we'll go." I nod, my body melting into his. Our tongues tangle with a wild and furious urgency. The wildfire between us spreads and we are both utterly consumed by its flames. I bend my legs at the knees and arch up to meet his every thrust. His strokes are hard and powerful, but slow and deliciously sensual. His touch is intoxicating; I can feel him everywhere. His hardness between my thighs, his lips on my body, his weight crushing me beneath him. His knuckles graze my thigh, almost like a feather. I wrap my arms around his back as his lips journey from my mouth and to my neck. I turn my head to the side to give him a better angle as he presses open-mouthed kisses to my naked flesh. He kisses my chest and my belly and my eyes flutter shut of their own accord as his tongue finds my hot center.

"_Francis!" _I gasp. I bring a hand up and run it through my hair; he laps at my clit, stroking my sweet spot, and pushes me closer and closer to the edge. His strokes are hard and relentless and _fast. _I'm feeling everything at once. I whimper, practically pulling at my own hair from holding on so tight. _Jesus fuck. _My chest heaves from my heavy breaths and beads of sweat bleed down my body. Francis lets out a low moan against my core, but he doesn't relent. Not yet. I'm shaking and groping for something other than my hair to grasp. My fingers thread through my husband's lush golden curls. His teeth just barely graze over my clit and the tip of his tongue circles over the small bundle of nerves. Francis's tongue delves into my most intimate of places, flicking and swirling around—at,_ on_—my sweetest spots and he tightly grips my thighs. Finally, I can't take anymore and I arch up, screaming my release. My body convulses and shudders as I ride the waves of pleasure, my orgasm overwhelming me. Francis peppers kisses back up my body as I writhe beneath him, both my hands in his hair.

"I fucking love you," he rasps between kisses. "Mary…" He stops once our faces are inches away from each other and I cup his cheeks in my hands, stroking them with my fingertips. The only sounds filling the silence are our breathing and the crackling of the fireplace.

"You don't have to say anything," I say softly. "I know." I caress his cheek with my knuckles and stroke the hair at the back of his head. "This is our moment. I love you and I'm never leaving you again." His eyes search my lips and I whisper, "Now, Francis." He dips his head down and his kiss reverberates throughout my being. I arch my breasts against him, moaning his name against his lips, when all of a sudden—

"_Freeze! _Francis de Valois, you're under arrest for regicide and the murder of King Henri. Anything you say can and will be used against you!" Francis jerks as he rolls off me, his cock sliding out of my heat. He puts his hands up and moves slowly, swinging his feet over the foot of the bed as he slides on his jeans. I hastily wrap the sheet around my nakedness.

"Why the hell are you arresting your king?" I shriek. "There's got to be some kind of misunderstanding here!" But I know there is no mistake. The police know that Francis murdered his father and the only other person other than me who knows this is Stefan Narcisse. _Stefan brought them Francis's confession, _I realize with a start of horror, _and now Francis is going to die for what he did. _

"There is no mistake, Your Majesty. Your husband is a murderer," the officer says firmly. Francis's hands are cuffed behind his back and he is shoved out the door. He turns his head and shouts over his shoulder to me, "Mary, I'm going to be fine! I promise. Go, get Anne and get out of France! I love—" The door slams shut before he can finish and I am left alone in the cold emptiness. Tears sting in my eyes and threaten to spill down my cheeks. I reach over to the bedside table and grab my cell phone. I speed dial Claude, my heart racing.

"Please please please pick up," I beg desperately. My voice breaks and my tears bleed down my cheeks.

"Mary, where the hell are you?" Claude demands. "I've been waiting here at the hospital—"

"Francis just got arrested, Claude," I blurt. There's no way to soften the blow, nor is there time. Everyone knows the punishment for regicide: death.

"What?" my sister-in-law exclaims. "Wait, why? Mary, I don't understand. Francis hasn't _done _anything wrong! He's innocent!" Her voice reaches a shrill pitch. "Why would somebody frame him?" I put my phone between my ear and shoulder as I get dressed. I don't say a word the entire time. All these months, Francis and I have kept her in the dark about the true circumstances regarding Henri's death. Should I tell her? Do I even have the right to? I'd be divulging my husband's secret to her!

"Claude, I'm on my way to the police station even as we speak," I tell her tautly as I grab my keys off the table. "Meet me there and I'll explain everything to you, I promise."

"I don't understand…Mary, what are you not telling—" The connection dies as I turn off my phone and stuff it into my purse. I ignore the buzz of the nobles as I storm through the halls and to my car. It's only a matter of time before Francis's confession is made public and plastered all over the news and the internet. My hands fumble with the keys as I struggle to insert them into the ignition. The engine comes to life and I speed to the police station. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears and my vision is blurred with tears. How can any of this be happening? I almost lost Francis once before and we've only just reconciled—only for him to be taken away from me again! Now, it's not just me who can't lose him. It's Claude and it's our daughter—I can't raise Anne without her father! None of this should be happening.

I pull into the parking lot and I hurriedly park my car in the first vacant space I can find before I run inside. Claude rises from her seat and rushes over to me. She grabs my hand and pulls me aside so we can talk in private.

"Mary, what the hell is going on?" she demands. "What was so bad that you couldn't tell me over the phone?" Sensing my hesitation, she grabs me by the shoulders and shake me furiously. "_It's my brother, Mary!" _she shouts. "You have to tell me!"

"Francis killed Henri," I tell her bluntly. "He killed your father. Claude, you have to understand. Henri was utterly mad!"

"I know," says Claude desolately. She lets go of me and shakes her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "You don't think I saw it all over the news? Of how Father killed Sebastian? I know I wasn't in France when it happened, but…why are we here? I don't understand. I don't understand half of the shit that goes on around me!"

"Francis has been blackmailed by one of the nobles," I explain. "Stefan Narcisse. He managed to record Francis's entire confession to me and now he's given it over to the authorities. This isn't a framing, Claude. This is one man's attempt at overthrowing the entire Valois line. If Francis is found guilty, it'll be a death sentence."

"…Why couldn't you tell me this sooner?" she asks. "So, this is what you two were up to before you left for Scotland…."

"Neither your brother nor I wanted to risk putting anyone else in danger," I go on. "I'm sorry. We just wanted to protect you."

"You know, I've been reading my mother's journals," Claude tells me matter-of-factly. "The ones she left behind before she died. Father really was going crazy, wasn't he?"

"He killed her too," I murmur. "Henri killed Bash and your mother. He almost killed me." I raise a hand to my throat, massaging where his fingers had locked themselves around me. "What else do you know?"

"Nostradamus's prophecy about Francis." Her voice is barely above a whisper when she speaks. "She believed that you would be the cause of his death. When he collapsed while you were gone, I was just looking for someone else to blame. And…god, now this?"

"I'm not going to let him die, Claude," I vow vehemently. "I promise." She nods wordlessly before she brushes past me. I watch her as she leaves and a single tear streaks down my cheek. I take a seat in the lobby and dip my head into my hands. I take deep breaths, trying desperately to regain control over my fraying emotions. Tears stream from my eyes and a ragged sob rises out of me. _Breathe, Mary. Breathe. _

"Your Majesty?" The voice of Stefan Narcisse slithers in my ears like poison and I look up at him, rising slowly from my seat.

"You did this," I snarl. "This is your fault! Francis is going to die because of you! Why did you do it, Narcisse?"

"I did it for France," he says simply. "Your husband's reign has been built on blood and death and France—" I grab him by the shirt of his collar and slam him against the wall as my temper explodes.

"_You did it for France, huh?" _I growl. I'm almost shouting in his face. "Well, you might as well have doomed the entire country! Catherine de Medici is dead! Who's going to rule France, then? I just gave Francis a daughter, so unless there is a law passed that gives his daughters the right to the crown, I would say that you didn't think your plan through at all!" I toss him to the ground, tears shimmering in my eyes. "Get the fuck out, Narcisse. Get out of France. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you. Don't test me and do not tempt my fury." Narcisse glares at me as he climbs to his feet.

"You're making a mistake, Mary," he says calmly.

"No. The only one who made a mistake is you," I say coldly. "You threatened my family and now you've put my country in danger. Get the hell out of my sight. I won't ask twice." I watch him as he leaves and I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I whirl around to see that it's Claude.

"Francis wants to see us."

* * *

"Mary, I am so sorry," says Francis. We are separated by a glass barrier and the built-in phones are the only things allowing us to communicate with each other. "God…you shouldn't be here."

"I'm not leaving you here to die," I vow. "Francis, please. There has to be something I can do!" He shakes his head and offers me a sad smile.

"Protect Anne," he tells me. "Protect our daughter—and Claude. I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of me. Not you, not our daughter…not even my sister. There's not going to be a trial for me, Mary. The evidence is all there."

"_You're not going to die!" _I explode. "I'm not going to let you!" I would rather switch places with Francis than let him die. Nostradamus foresaw that I would be the cause of his death, but I'll do anything in my power to prevent that from coming true.

"I love you," my husband murmurs. His azure eyes are wet with unshed tears. "I knew this day would come eventually. I just wish we could've had more time." He reaches out for me and his palm only finds the glass wall separating us. I put my hand over his as tears make their way down my face. "Mary, there's nothing you can do for me. I'm sorry."

"I'm not going to sit back and watch you die if that's what you mean," I snap. "I'll fight for you! I'm not letting you die on me!"

"You would, wouldn't you?" he says. His smile wavers, tears slowly sliding down his cheeks. "You'd fight to the end." His fingers trail down the barrier between us before he lets his hand fall. He exhales shakily before he speaks again. "There's no need to be so ferocious. I don't want to die, Mary, I don't—I'm sorry. You should go. I need to speak with my sister now."

"Wait, what? Francis, no! Please—" He hangs up the phone, his eyes filled with remorse. He gives a shake of his head and I can do nothing but walk away. I can feel Claude's eyes on me as I turn my back to my husband. She sees the tears that mark my face and she pulls me into a warm hug. I hide my face in her shoulder for a few moments before we separate.

"Francis wants to talk to you now," I tell her. She nods wordlessly and goes. I head for the lobby, knowing that Claude and Francis will want their privacy. I rake a hand through my hair and I take a seat in one of the vacant chairs.

I wait.

* * *

When Claude leaves, she is visibly shaken—but something has changed. Her face is wet with tears but a determined resolve has taken over her fair features. She sees me and quickly wipes her tears off her face as I rise from my seat and approach her.

"What did he say, Claude?" I press. "What happened? You're shaking!" She steps past me and lets out a deep breath. When she speaks, her voice is steady. Tears slide from her eyes in a steady stream but there is a quiet strength about her.

"Francis's execution is in two days," she explains. "They're giving him time to say his goodbyes and wrap up any loose ends…and then they're going to kill him. Bullet to the brain, you know. They're not even giving him a fair trial, or a trial at all for that matter!"

"The audio tape of his confession is all the proof they need to convict him guilty," I say. "Claude, I'm so sorry…"

"It doesn't matter, Mary," she replies off-handedly, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Francis…my brother isn't going to die. No, I won't allow it."

"Can we even do anything? There needs to be something we can do to get him out of this mess!" I insist. "Claude, please…if you're thinking of something, you have to tell me!"

"I love my brother," she says instead. "Mother wouldn't want us to just leave him here to die. I was wrong to blame you for his illness and for that, I'm sorry." Cold fear wraps its hand around my throat as she goes on. What is she thinking? What is she going to do?

"Why are you saying these things?"

The next morning, Claude turns herself in to the police.


	31. Breaking Point

I can still remember the horror and shock I felt when Henri murdered Bash right in front of my eyes. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, and couldn't…think. I felt as though I was in a nightmare—but I was wide awake. This is the same horror that rises within me as I stare at the television screen. The CNN reporter goes on about how Claude de Valois has turned herself in to the police, claiming that Francis is innocent of Henri's murder, she blackmailed him into recording his confession and that she snuck into France unseen and killed her father. She claims that she planted incriminating evidence against her brother, but now she has realized the error of her ways.

"No, Claude," I gasp. Tears of horror trickle down my cheeks and blur my vision. This can't be happening. _Claude just threw herself into the fire for Francis. _He's already lost so much. His brother, his mother, his father—and now his sister? Nostradamus foresaw that I would bring death and destruction to the House of Valois, and as much as I don't want to admit to myself, he was right. Indirectly or not, I've brought my husband so much pain and loss. I can still remember his words to me all those months ago when I pressed him about what was haunting him, before I knew of his role in Henri's murder.

_I blame you for their deaths because I have last far too much over these past few months! _he had shouted at me. _Is that what you want to hear? Does it bring us closer to know that you bring death with you, wherever you go? To know that if you hadn't returned to court, they might still be alive? Have I answered you fully? _At the time, he hadn't meant any of it…but still, I carry my own guilt for all that's happened. Maybe it's irrational or maybe it isn't, but I feel it all the same. This guilt weighs down on me, gnawing at me from the inside out and threatening to consume me, as I make my way back to the police station. If anything, they will have released Francis by now and dropped the charges against him now that Claude has come forward.

I park my car in the parking lot before running inside the police station. I search the lobby, scanning my surroundings for any sign of my husband, but it isn't long before I see him. Two officers escort him out from what I presume are the jail cells and the handcuffs binding his wrists together are unlocked. The cops say a few words to him—what they say, I don't know—before Francis's eyes lock on mine. We come together like two lost puzzle pieces, clinging to each other as though the world is ending around us.

"Oh my god, Francis!" I exclaim. "Are you okay? I heard about Claude. Is she alright? Have the cops—" My husband shakes his head and we pull apart. I hold his face between my palms, stroking his cheeks with my fingertips. Francis melts into my touch as he reaches up and holds my wrists in place. His cobalt eyes are filled with immeasurable guilt and worry and grief. He breathes in deeply before he speaks.

"I'm fine, Mary," he says tautly. "Claude turned herself in this morning…I don't know what she said, but they let me go. All charges of regicide have been dropped." He closes his eyes and gives a furious shake of his head. "My sister's on death row because of me—oh my god. No, no, no, this can't be happening. I just—"

"Shhh, shhh," I murmur, pulling him back into my arms again. "We're going to survive this. We're going to get through this, okay?" I don't dare tell him that it's going to be okay because we both know that it isn't. Claude is the only family that he has left, now that Catherine is dead. His mother, his brother, and his father are all dead. "What have they told you? About Claude, I mean?" Tears burn in my eyes, threatening to spill over. I blink rapidly to keep them at bay. I need to be strong. I need to be strong for Francis if we're going to get through this. He's been through so much pain and it just kills me that he's about to lose his sister.

"They're not giving her a trial," he says, raking a hand through his hair. "The execution…Mary, it's tonight. They're killing my sister tonight."

"What?" I exclaim, horrified. For the first time, I'm speechless. How could this happen? How can Francis have endured so much grief and loss over this past year, only to continue losing the people he loves? "Francis…oh god, have you tried to—"

"My power as king means nothing!" he cries. He tears himself away from me, breathing heavily. I reach out for him, but he puts his hands up in a _back off _gesture. "There is absolutely no way that—there's no way that my sister is going to die."

* * *

"Mary, I'm glad you came," says Claude. She is on the opposite side of the glass barrier between us, where Francis was merely 24 hours ago. "I wasn't sure you would even want to visit me." Her voice is quiet and subdued, just barely above a whisper. "How is my brother?"

"He's…he's not okay, Claude," I sigh. "He's lost so much and I don't know how he's going to get past this…past losing you." I brush a hand under my eyes, wiping away some stray tears, although I don't remember starting to cry. "He's in denial. Claude, there has to be some other way. You don't have to die!"

"Nobody's going to rest until Henri's murderer is brought to justice," she murmurs. "I wasn't about to let them kill my brother. If it comes down to him or me, I know what my choice is going to be. Every time. Mary, I don't want it to be like this. I don't, but what other choice was there? Just watch them kill Francis?" She chuckles humorlessly, wiping away tears on her face. "I'm supposed to die tonight, Mary. How ironic is that?" Her laughter is dark and without humor. She cries openly now, but her voice remains steady. "Take care of my brother for me, will you?" she asks. "He's going to need you after tonight."

"I promise," I vow. "Are you sure this is what you want? To die, I mean?"

"Who actually wants to die?" she questions. "I don't want to die, but this is my choice. It's my life and it's my choice. Francis is going to be okay, which I suppose is my only consolation." Her words catch on a ragged sob. "I guess this is the tragedy of the Valois. We all die, one way or another." I open my mouth to object, but I close it as I realize the truth in her words. Almost everyone is dead. Bash, Catherine, Henri and everyone before them…they're all dead and buried. "Better to go out with a bang, right?" The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, prompting me to look over my shoulder. Francis stands in the doorway, his expression pained.

"Claude—"

"Go, Mary," she says quietly. "I need to speak with my brother." I don't protest as I hang up the phone. I make my way to Francis; he meets my gaze and manages a small, sad smile. He doesn't pull away when I embrace him tenderly.

"Are you going to be okay?" I ask him softly. Francis doesn't respond and we continue to hold each other, drawing strength from one another. I cradle the back of his head, running a hand through his curls. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. We pull apart after a few more moments. Francis lets out a shaky breath and refuses to meet my eyes. "Francis…Francis, please—"

"I'll be fine," he insists. He forces a smile and gently lowers my hands from his cheeks. "I'm going to be fine, Mary. You don't have to worry about me." His voice is taut; I can sense his struggle for control over his emotions. I'm worried for him. How much more of this can he take? I just want to take his pain away.

"I'll wait for you in the lobby, okay?" My husband nods and I take his face in my hands, dipping his mouth to mine in a soft kiss. I stroke his cheek with my thumb before I walk away. The lobby isn't all that busy when I take my seat. My chest is tight with worry for Francis and fear for Claude. I know my husband—after everything he's been through, there is no way that he's okay. He's barely holding himself together and his denial is the only thing protecting him from letting it all in. I'm honestly scared of what could happen when this is all over and Claude is…gone. There's only so much loss Francis—_anyone, _to be honest—can take before he reaches his breaking point. I don't want this for him, for Claude…but there's nothing either of us can do. Our authority as king and queen can only go so far. We can't do anything for Claude and it breaks my heart to watch Francis slowly crumble as the clock ticks down.

I'm not sure how much time passes but I see Francis heading in my direction. He stops when he sees me—and my heart breaks. My husband tries to smile, but his expression crumples as tears shine in his eyes and streak down his cheeks. I don't hesitate as I rise from my seat and practically run over to him, wanting nothing more than to make all of his pain just stop. "Francis—"

"I can't talk about it, Mary. I can't," he says brokenly.

"Don't shut me out," I plead. "Francis, please…talk to me." He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath, making no effort to stop the ceaseless flow of tears bleeding down his face.

"I'm fucking tired of it," he chokes. "Jesus Christ, Mary, everyone I love dies! People die around me and I can't do anything about it. I couldn't do anything for Bash or my mother. I killed my own father and now my sister? Who's going to die next? You? Our daughter?"

"Francis…"

"I can't blame anyone else anymore," my husband cries. "I can't, Mary. Everything that's happened…it's not because you returned to court or because you and I fell in love. It's because of me! My sister is going to die because of me!" I gather him into my arms as he breaks down sobbing, winding my hand through the curls at the back of his head and whispering words of comfort in his ear. This is all I can do for him: just be there for him. Claude will be dead before the day is done and I can't even begin to fathom how we'll be able to get through this.

I close my eyes and pray. I pray for my husband, for Claude, and for the strength I wish I had.

* * *

The drive back to the Louvre is filled with a heavy silence. Not a word passes between me and Francis, for we both know that it's only a matter of time. We've spent the past few hours driving around France aimlessly, trying to distract ourselves from the fact that Claude will be dead soon. The sun begins to set in the distance; the clouds have gained a red-purple hue. The sight is peaceful, which I can't help but find ironic given the inner turmoil that Francis and I are both going through. There is nothing peaceful about tonight.

I park my car in front of the castle and I follow Francis inside as he makes his way to our quarters. I try to catch his stare, but he doesn't even glance in my direction. _Just give him some time, Mary, _I tell myself. _He'll talk to you when he's ready. _I'm terrified of what will happen once he receives the news of Claude's death. I'm scared for him—but I'm not going to abandon him when he needs me the most. I watch him carefully as I head into our small kitchen and reach inside the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. I pour myself a glass of bourbon and down it slowly. My mind races at a thousand miles an hour. Any minute now and we'll know when and if Claude has been put to death…for a crime she didn't commit. She has put her life on the line to protect Francis and now she's going to die for him. I still can't process it. Things aren't supposed to be this way. We're all supposed to be a family: me, Francis, Claude, Catherine, and Anne! Catherine has been dead for months now and everything's falling apart. I still wonder how things would be if she were still here. Would Claude still be sacrificing herself for Francis? Would we even still be here right now?

My thoughts are interrupted as I hear the sound of the television—and my heart leaps up into my throat when I see what's on the screen. A news reporter solemnly reports that Claude de Valois is dead, having faced the death penalty for killing King Henri. King Henri's murderer has finally been brought to justice. _Oh my god. _My glass of bourbon falls to the floor and shatters into a million fragments. I slowly approach Francis.

"Francis…" He whirls around to face me, tears streaming down his face as the news report continues to go on behind him. "Francis—"

"She's dead, Mary," he says brokenly. "They killed her. Claude is dead! My sister is dead and I just—" He breaks off his own words on a choked sob. "I can't."

"Shhh, shhh. Francis, hey. Talk to me," I urge him gently. "Let me help you."

"_How?" _my husband shouts. "How are you going to help me? How could you possibly help me?" He runs a hand over his face, hastily wiping away some of his tears. I can feel my eyes burning and I take a step forward towards Francis. "My little sister is dead, Mary!" He shakes his head doggedly. "Know what, I can't keep doing this anymore. I can't, I just can't." My husband brushes past me and heads into the kitchen, furiously opening and closing cabinets.

"Francis, what are you doing?" I ask slowly. "Are you looking for something?" With each passing minute, my sense of dread grows and the black hand of fear wraps its fingers around my throat. "Francis?"

"Got it." Francis pulls a bottle of something out of the cabinet and squirts its contents all over the counter. _Gasoline. _He spurts the fluid all over our room and I am frozen, rooted to the spot.

"Francis, what the hell are you doing?" I demand. "Francis, stop it! You're scaring the shit out of me!"

"Why?" he challenges. "Because you don't want me to be in denial anymore? You know, I heard you and Claude talking before…before she—I heard it all, Mary. What do you want? The truth? Because this is the truth, Mary! I don't want to live in this castle anymore! We can just move court somewhere else. Versailles or somewhere, I don't know! Just not here." He throws down the now empty bottle and it shatters upon impact. He makes his way towards the fireplace, grabbing a framed photo of him and his sister and throws it down to the floor. I jump as the familiar shattering of glass reverberates throughout the room. Francis storms to the kitchen and reaches inside the refrigerator. He pulls out a bottle of bourbon and takes a large swig of it.

"Francis, stop it! Stop it!" I shriek. He takes the bourbon and hurls it against the wall. Glass fragments adorn the floor, soaked in alcohol. "Francis!"

"_What else are we supposed to do_?" Francis shouts. "You don't get it, Mary! How could you even begin to understand? They're all dead! _Everyone is dead! Everyone I love is dead! _Mother, Bash, Claude…Father, even Father! They're all _dead! _This castle is filled with memories of the people that I love that have died and I _fucking_—I can't, okay? I mean, what am I supposed to—how am I even going to move on? I can't even—_there's nothing left for me anymore_!" He grabs a box of matches from the mantle. It is only then that I'm able to move. With a cry, I knock it out of his hands and it flies across the room and lands on the floor with a soft _thud. _Francis buries his face in his hands as he begins to sob brokenly.

"Francis," I say quietly. "Francis, I need you to calm down. Please, let me help you!" My face is wet with tears, but I don't care. He shakes his head furiously and I take him into my arms, letting him cry into my shoulder. His legs give out beneath him and I sink onto my knees and onto the floor with him. I hold him close as I rub small circles into his back and make soft soothing noises. I brush my hand through the curls at the back of his head and kiss the top of his head. Francis's entire body shakes with the force of his sobs.

"No, no, _no_!" my husband cries. "I can't, I can't, I…I can't. It hurts…it hurts. Just make it stop! _Please make it stop, it hurts_!" I rock him back and forth as he cries, clinging to me as though I'm his last lifeline.

"Shhh, shhh, shhh," I whisper. "It's going to be alright, love. I promise you, we're going to get through this." Francis pulls away and I reach for him, stroking his face and smooth his hair. His jaw trembles as tears form a steady stream down his cheeks.

"I can't lose anyone else I love. I can't." He chokes on a sob and I pull him back into my arms. I close my eyes and let my own tears fall, dripping down my chin and onto his head.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" The Louvre is vacant; everyone has already made their preparations for the court's move to Versailles. The only people left in the castle are myself and Francis. My husband crosses the room, picks up the box of matches and proceeds to light it against the mantle of the fireplace. His eyes are red from crying and his cheeks have visible tear tracks marking them, but his voice is steady when he speaks.

"I'm sure, Mary," says Francis firmly. "There's nothing here for me but ghosts and memories and the guilt." He shakes his head and smiles sadly. A stray tear slips down his cheek and he hastily brushes it away. "We'll start fresh at Versailles. This is what I want—what I _need_, Mary."

"I understand," I murmur. Francis lets the match fall from his fingers and the floor instantly ignites. Is this what grief tastes like? Not bitterness and anger, but of smoke and ash.

I look back as the flames consume the Louvre. I can still taste the ash in my mouth.


	32. Return

The sight of the Louvre engulfed in flames haunts me yet. It's a fleeting image in my mind—my childhood home, Francis's home, all of our memories together. Everything there is gone. Nothing but ash and rubble. There was something about watching it all go down in flames that still gives me the shivers. The transition from the Louvre to Versailles is grueling and demanding on all of us, not just me and Francis. I can sense everyone else's confusion and hear the questions that are on the tips of their tongues, begging for answers.

_Why? Why are we moving court? Why has King Francis put the Louvre to the torch? Is it all really over? Did Claude really murder her own father? _So many questions. Questions that we can't answer, for the truth will lead to chaos all across France. All they know is that Claude is dead for allegedly having killed Henri. It kills me that only I and my husband know the truth of what really happened, but it is a secret we will both carry to our graves. These thoughts occupy the chaotic canvas of my mind as we stroll to our rooms. We lost everything in the fire, but Versailles has already been furnished, having formerly been a museum and now renovated once again as a palace prior to Francis's decision to burn down the Louvre and relocate court.

"Francis, are you sure you're going to be okay?" I ask softly. I close the door behind us and flick on the lights. Versailles is considerably larger than the Louvre and makes the latter palace dwarf in comparison. It's going to be quite an adjustment—moving from the Louvre to here—but was this really the right choice? I understand how the Louvre bore so many memories for Francis and yet….it also bore many memories for me as well. It carried memories for all of us. "I can't begin to imagine how hard this must be for you."

Francis scoffs humorlessly and brushes a hand through his hair. "My entire family…they're all dead. To say it's hard for me has got to be one of the biggest understatements of the decade, Mary," he says dryly. I'm taken aback by the harshness of his tone and I try not to let it bother me. After all he's been through, he has a right to be angry. "I'm sorry," he apologizes quickly. "I know you're only trying to help." He runs a hand over his face and heaves a bitter sigh.

"Francis, it's okay," I assure him as I close the distance between us. "It's okay, I get it." My husband shakes his head furiously.

"No, Mary. You don't," says Francis scathingly. "I've buried my entire family within this past year. You and our daughter are all I have left now that Claude—I don't expect you to understand." His tone softens. "I don't."

"Do you blame me for what's happened?" I'm unable to stop myself from asking, and I mentally kick myself for it. "Do you blame me for all of this? Because…to be honest, Francis, I've been blaming myself ever since your mother died." It's been almost a year now and I still haven't been able to shake the feeling that Catherine and everyone else that Francis has lost died because I returned to court. Nostradamus and his prophecy has only cemented this weight upon me; he foresaw nothing but death for the Valois upon my arrival and Francis has lost so many people ever since I arrived.

Francis hesitates. He tears his eyes away from me and turns his back to me. I instantly regret having asked him that question. His hesitance and his silence is all the answer that I need. I undo the buttons and zipper on my black leather coat and toss it on the couch, feigning indifference. What else could I have expected? If anything, I am irrevocably linked to the deaths of Bash, Catherine, Henri and Claude.

"That's just the thing," he says quietly, breaking the silence between us. "After you told me about Nostradamus's prophecy about you causing my death, I wrote it off as merely superstitious bullshit. I didn't believe in his…talents then, and to be frank, I still don't. But it all feels linked…to you. I've tried ignoring it. I've tried looking at it from every possible angle—but it's too much. I hate myself for even thinking it, for even _considering _that my family is dead because of you. I shouldn't even consider it, Mary. You're my wife and the mother of our daughter and in spite of _everything _that has happened, I love you. I loved you then and I love you still."

"What are you trying to say, Francis? I don't understand."

"Even if I did blame you for everything, I don't think I could ever stop loving you, Mary," my husband murmurs. He turns to me and approaches, gently holding my face between his palms. His touch ignites my skin, stoking the fire deep within my core. My eyes flutter closed on their own accord as I reach up for him, holding his hands. Our fingers thread together. The pull is magnetic, almost cosmic. Francis's lips find mine; the kiss is almost feather-like in manner. He reaches for me and I help him pull my tank top up and over my head, tossing it to the floor. His fingers weave through my hair and one hand drops from my hair and runs over a bare breast.

"I love you, Mary," whispers Francis. "I'll never betray you." I answer him with a kiss, looping my arms around him and threading my fingers through his curls. Our tongues clash and collide, warring for dominance, slipping and sliding against each other. Francis's lips find my neck and glide down my body effortlessly, tantalizingly. Never one to miss an opportunity, he ravishes my breasts with his mouth. He sucks on each one of them one right after the other, his tongue swirling and flicking around my nipples, before he drops down onto his knees to kiss my stomach.

"Oh,_ Francis_," I breathe. "Francis, please…" The snap on my jeans is undone and I keep my hands in his hair, letting my head fall back as he pulls my jeans to the floor in a crumpled heap. My mind runs rampant with possibilities and fantasies of what he could do to me. Dominate me, worship me, ravish me, fuck me, make love to me…I've always loved the way he dominates me. _My sexy, Dominant husband_. His fingers dip into my panties and the offending garments slide down off my hips, baring me before him. I step out of my heap of clothes before Francis gently spreads my legs apart. Wetness collects between my legs and a small gasp falls past my lips as his tongue delves into my center. Francis holds me steady at the waist as his mouth explores my womanhood. His tongue flattens itself as it slides from my hot entrance and makes its way down to my clit.

"So good, Mary," he hisses. I grab a fistful of his hair, determined to keep myself upright, but my legs are already weak from Francis's vigorousness. The sensation of his mouth in my most intimate of places is one that I would always welcome.

"Francis!"

"Cum for me, baby," he growls. "I want to taste you." My toes curl as my orgasm approaches and rolls over me in waves, each one stronger and more potent than the last. I don't have time to react as Francis abruptly lifts me into his arms and carries me over to our new bed. He lays me down on my back gently among the pillows and I watch him as he pulls away from me momentarily to discard his shirt and his jeans.

"Francis," I whimper. "Please…" I crave his touch, his intoxicating touch. He crawls over to me and covers my body in his, pressing his full weight down upon me as he fuses our lips together in a searing kiss. "Francis!" I gasp, tugging at his hair as he enters me. He silences me with another kiss as he begins to move inside me, slowly accumulating a rhythm between our bodies. Slow, steady, and hard, but delicious and sensual. He pulls himself out of me up to the tip before plunging back into me, much harder than before. I shift slightly beneath him and bend my legs at the knee, arching my breasts against him as I respond to his slow and steady thrusts. I hold his face in my hands as I guide his mouth towards mine. His fingers graze my thigh the way a feather caresses the air when afloat and his very touch sends electricity forking throughout my body.

"I love you," murmurs Francis as he moves his lips against the curve of my neck. His fingers move from my thigh to the globe of my ass, squeezing the sinuous flesh. "My god, Mary…" I arch my back against him as a sigh of pleasure falls past my lips. He kisses the valley between my breasts and playfully nuzzles my chest as I writhe beneath him, entangling my fingers in his hair.

"Francis, oh my—oh god, Francis!" I moan. He leaves a trail of hot kisses down my body, not daring to miss a single patch of skin, and he gingerly kisses the inside of my thigh. His eyes meet mine and his stare is utterly seductive. "Francis, please…please don't stop." I'm begging for him now. Of course, this is what he wants. He wants me to beg for it. I know full well what he has in store for me and the fact that he is dragging this out is a slow form of torture by itself. His teeth graze against my skin as he keeps his eyes locked on me, seductive and knowing. I look up at him before I drop my head back upon the pillow, sighing in frustration.

"Do you ever fight fair?" I ask. Francis doesn't respond as he guides his tongue into my center, finally granting me what I want. I rake a hand through my hair, keeping my other hand knotted in my husband's curls, as he caresses my body. His strong and powerful hands run down my arms, my breasts, my belly and my thighs before he takes my legs and eases them open even more.

"Oh god, Francis," I moan. "Francis!" His tongue works quickly, weaving wings of ecstasy flying me higher, higher, higher… He presses a soft kiss against my clit and rubs his nose against the bundle of nerves there in a taunting motion. My hips buck and I close my eyes, whimpering. Francis tugs me closer to him as his tongue explores me, slicing through my inner walls and inhaling me. I grip the sheets hard, my hips thrusting upward under his mouth and my back arches upward. His tongue pulses around my entrance, each movement slow and deliberate. He finds that sweet spot between my legs and when he kisses me there, I let out a cry as my release sweeps over me. Francis drags his tongue over my clit before he slowly kisses his way back up my body. His hands run over the tone of my heaving stomach and slide up my body, ravishing my breasts before gripping my shoulders as he pulls himself up to my mouth. He covers my mouth in his, sliding his hand to my thigh and he rolls, pulling me along with him. I straddle his waist and he sits upright, his hands roaming my bare back. I resettle myself in his lap, lifting myself up to the tip and slowly lowering myself back onto his length. I moan and gasp, letting my head fall back as I link my arms around my husband.

"Mary…" he rasps. Francis buries himself in me, his nails dig into my back, and he automatically seeks out the curve of my neck. He picks up our rhythm again and he grunts in time with his punctuated thrusts. I roll my hips against him in response to his movements inside me. I run my hands down his shoulders to the smooth firmness of his chest as he peppers searing open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck.

"You feel so…so good," I moan. "Francis…" His lush, moist kisses make my head spin and I wrap my arms around his neck, grabbing a fistful of his hair for support. I grind against him as I wrap my legs around him, slowly but steadily picking up the pace. Francis presses himself down against me, pressing his forehead to mine. His fingers snake through my hair and one hand slides around my waist.

"Mmm…Francis," I sigh. "There…there. Yes. _Oh, _so good." Back and forth. Back and forth. Push and pull. Push and pull. My core begins to tighten as Francis begins to leave a trail of kissing along my pulse points. I continue my rhythm, pushing myself against him and he lets out a low—but sexy—growl of approval. The painful throbbing between my legs merely intensifies. I lift myself up and grind back down and I do so over and over again as our rhythm becomes more assertive. His lips leave my neck in want for my mouth and I bite down on his lower lip. I tug gently as he pushes me up along his length and pulls me closer to him.

"Y-you're so beautiful," Francis stammers through heavy breaths. "God, Mary…" Our cries for one another only grow louder as we push and pull against each other, giving and taking from one another. He fills every part of me and I know that I could just stay here forever. In his arms, in his bed, with him. I pull away from our kiss to push him onto his back. Francis's lusty gaze is filled with awe as I dominate him. I dip my head down and kiss him possessively, moving my hands from his chest to cup his face. My breasts graze against his chest as I move back and forth along his length.

"Oh, Francis," I purr between kisses. He cups my face in one palm while he moves the other hand down to my bare back. "_Francis_!" I accentuate our rhythm, lowering myself down onto Francis, before lifting myself and grinding my hips against him. I snake my fingers through his hair and tug playfully, the way I know he likes. Francis moves one hand from my hair to one of my breasts and the other hand finds the globe of my ass.

"_Mary," _he breathes. The way he says my name gives me the shivers, like a prayer from an ancient language. He guides my mouth to his and he rolls me over, pressing his body against mine. I arch my back and scream as he drives into me over and over, harder and harder. I bite into his shoulder to stifle my cries and I claw my fingernails into his back. I'm almost certain that I might have cut into his skin, but if I have, Francis shows no sign of pain.

"I-I need…" I gasp. "Oh…_OH!" _I wrap my arms around him, meeting his every thrust with my own. My legs hook around his waist to draw us closer together, our cries of pleasure bouncing off the walls. Our tongues tangle with one another, pushing and colliding, as Francis possesses me.

"Francis?" I whisper, propping my head up to look at him. Our naked bodies are entangled with one another under the sheets, slick with sweat. My leg is hitched over his hip and his touch as he gently runs a strong hand over my thigh is more than enough to make my entire body ignite.

"Hmm?" my husband asks. "What is it, Mary?" I raise myself upon one elbow and he meets my eyes, waiting for me to speak.

"We can't keep doing this," I say softly. "Francis, talk to me." The sex is amazing, but for Francis, it's an escape from his pain. I've been married to him for almost a year now—I know these things and I want to be there for him. I want to support him. After everything he's been through, there is no way that he's okay. "Talk to me…please." I stroke his cheek with my thumb. Francis closes his eyes as he leans into my touch.

"The funeral is in a couple days," he says, "and I just don't want to think about it, okay? Mary, please don't worry about me." I open my mouth to reply, but I decide against it and rest my head upon his shoulder. We're both exhausted and grieving for Claude. The last thing I want to do is fight. Francis's fingers dance across my bare back as we lay together. He looks towards me before gently pressing a kiss to my brow.

"Francis—"

"Shhh," he murmurs. "Don't…please." His tone is soft and caressing, not harsh and angry like I expect. "Just stay with me for a while." I kiss him gently and rub our noses together, caressing his face with my hands. His need, his desperation, his fear, his pain…I can feel all of it in waves. He puts his arms around me and I nestle closer to him. I plant a kiss on his chest and I close my eyes, letting sleep claim me.

It isn't long until I awaken. Groggily, I reach a hand out for Francis—only to find an impression in the mattress where he is supposed to be. How long has it been since he made love to me? A couple hours? I sit upright, wrapping the sheet around myself, to see my husband putting on his jeans. His back is to me—he must think that I'm still asleep—and he walks to the balcony just outside of our room. I swing my legs over the bed and make my way to him. The sun is just beginning to rise, signifying the start of a new day.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I say quietly. Francis chuckles as he opens his arms for me and I oblige, letting him wrap his arms around me from behind. The feeling of his warm body on mine makes my skin ignite. His hands slide around my waist and my mind immediately flashes back to what it felt like to have those hands on me in the throes of passion. My husband is silent and I heave a sigh, leaning into him and molding my body to his.

"I miss this," I admit. "The quiet, the stillness. With everything that's happened, our lives have been so chaotic. I miss these moments, when I'm yours."

"I miss it too, love," agrees Francis. "When this is all over, we'll be able to have these moments with Anne too." His lips brush against the side of my neck. He gently nips at the curve where my neck begins and I let my head fall back onto his shoulder, my mouth falling open in a quiet moan. "I just wish they were all here to see her. My mother, Bash…."

"Your mother would be fretting over Anne like a mother hen," I say, "just like she would have during my pregnancy. She would love her, I know it." I bring a hand up to cup his cheek gently. "We were all so happy that day." I can still remember in great detail how she had interrupted me and Francis while we were making love. That day was the happiest we had all been after such a long while, but now, it feels like it's a memory from another lifetime. Things have changed so much since then.

"We'll have days like that again, Mary," my husband assures me. "I promise." His lips graze against my skin and I turn around to face him, linking my arms around his neck. I let the sheet fall from my body, baring me to him, and our bodies press together. His arms wrap around my waist as he draws me closer to him, if that is even possible.

"I love you, Francis Valois," I whisper. "Never let go of that."

"I love you too, Mary." His voice is a soft caress. I gasp as his hands lower to my ass. I'm dizzy—from his intoxicating touch or from desire, I'm not sure—and I bite down on his lower lip. I pull gently, but just hard enough. His fingers dig into the flesh of my ass. I press our foreheads together, my hand sliding from his face down his neck and to his shoulders. All gentleness has faded away in want of passion. Francis raises a hand and runs it down a breast; his hardness presses against me as wetness gathers between my legs.

"_Mary_," he breathes.

"Now, Francis."

* * *

The next few days are surprisingly peaceful, in spite of everything. Francis and I spend them together, alternately making love and visiting Anne in the hospital. We both know that it's wrong, but neither of us can bring ourselves to admit to the fact that we both played a part in the events that led up to Claude's sacrifice. Our daughter is our only source of happiness, knowing that she is going to be okay. Our Anne, our miracle.

I stand in the doorway of the ICU. Francis's back is to me as he cradles Anne in his arms, singing quietly under his breath. I can't help but wish that our lives could be like this—without all the loss, the pain, and all the grief we've endured. For so long, we've wanted a family together and now that we have Anne in our lives, there is nothing else that is more important than protecting her. The Bourbons are still out there; neither Francis nor I have heard anything of them since they attacked the castle all those months ago. As a precaution, Francis has taken the liberty of increasing the security at Versailles in the event of a siege. Our enemies have been unsettlingly quiet. My gut tells me they have their next move planned and that they're just waiting for the perfect chance to strike. Elizabeth poses a greater threat to me than Louis and Antoine de Bourbon ever have—and I'm terrified that the day should come when she comes for me and my family.

I step into the room and approach my husband, putting my hand on his shoulder to let him know of my presence. He turns to me and offers me a small smile. "You're good at this," I tell him. "Being a father, I mean."

"I remember the day when you told me you were pregnant," he tells me. "When you told me, I was torn between joy and terror. Father had only been getting worse and worse and…I know I never told you this, but a part of me was terrified that he passed his madness down to me and that I would taint our child with his madness—"

"Francis…"

"But now, as I hold her, I realize that whatever it was that made my father go mad…it's not going to touch our daughter," he continues.

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask my husband. I reach for Anne and he places her gently in my arms. I make soft hushing noises to her before I look back to Francis. She's so small and beautiful; I'm almost afraid that I'll break her.

"Because I'm scared, Mary," Francis blurts. There is a raw fear and vulnerability in his eyes. "I just lost Claude. I can't lose anyone else I love."

"And you won't," I assure him. "Francis, you're not going to lose me or Anne. I know you don't think I understand what you're going through, but I do. I get it. I've lost people, too. Friends, family. Listen to me, love. It's you and me, always. You're going to survive this—_we _are going to survive this. Believe in that." My husband nods and for a few moments, we stand in silence. That silence is shattered when my ringer blares, a small vibration coming from the inside of my pocket. Francis takes Anne into his arms and I pull out my cell phone.

"Mary, we need to talk." _Mother? _Francis gives me a questioning look and I hastily leave the ICU. "It's important."

"Mother?" I ask. "I don't understand. What's going on? Is everything okay in Scotland?"

"No, things have gotten worse. So much worse," my mother tells me. "Listen to me very carefully, Mary. I can't tell you much over the phone, but I'm in France right now. I would be at the Louvre right now, but since it burned down in a mysterious fire, I'm on my way to Versailles even as we speak."

"I'll meet you there, okay? I need to go." I cut the connection and turn around to see Francis. "Francis, hey!"

"Is everything alright, Mary?" my husband asks.

"It's my mother," I tell him. "She's here. In France. I don't know why or what's going on. All she told me is that the situation in Scotland is getting worse by the day. Excuse me, I need to go. I'll tell you more when I know more?" I grant him a brief but passionate kiss before I kiss our daughter on the forehead.

I spend the entire drive back to Versailles with a pit in my stomach. How much worse have things gotten back home? My brother's intentions are no clearer to me than they were when he came here to bring me back to Scotland. Francis insisted that James was no friend to me, that he tried having me killed by luring me onto a private jet back home with a bomb—and when I made it clear that I was going with him, my husband locked me in the tower. I trust my husband, but do I trust my own family? My mother: My own brother?

I park in front of the palace to see my mother waiting right outside the doors. Her expression is solemn. _So, this isn't a social call, _I think sourly to myself. I climb out of my car, locking it as I make my way over to her. "Mother!"

"I seem to have missed a lot, Mary," she says conversationally. "My daughter-in-law is a murderer and the Louvre burns down right afterward…and I'm a grandmother."

"Why did you call?" I ask. "Mother, why are you even in France? I know this isn't a social call, so cut the crap and tell me what the hell is going on!"

"Your husband liberated Scotland from England's dominion," my mother says. "We will forever be in his debt, but that doesn't mean that our enemies are gone. Elizabeth's become more and more aggressive in her campaign against you, Mary. You've declared herself her enemy and she's out for blood." We walk into the palace as we talk, strolling the halls.

"The alliance between Scotland and France is stronger than ever," I tell her. "I've given Francis a child, a daughter."

"This isn't England, Mary. No daughters of the king may rule here in France," she snaps. "Francis needs a son." I stare at her incredulously. Does she really expect me to make love with Francis until I get pregnant again, so soon after I've delivered our daughter? "You give Francis a son, and you will have secured both your claim to England and the futures of Scotland and France. I trust that lovemaking isn't a chore between the two of you? It isn't seen as your duty?"

"I'd rather keep the details of my sex life to myself, thank you," I say dryly. "Does it really matter that much to you how often we make love, Mother? I just gave birth only weeks ago. I'm not looking to get pregnant again so soon."

"That may be so," she says, "but it is of utmost importance that you conceive a son. Make love to Francis tonight, Mary. _Give your husband an heir_."

"Did you expect me to believe that you came all this way to tell me this?" I demand.

"No. I expect you to do your duty," Mother says sharply. "You are a queen, Mary, twice—_thrice_—over! Your brother and his lords managed to completely overthrow me from power. I would have remained in Scotland but it appears that you need…guidance. You are new to the French throne, after all. I intend to stay."

I stare at her, unable to believe what I'm hearing. I should be grateful—thrilled, even—to know that my mother is staying in France, but I'm not. She is neither friend nor enemy to me. Whose side is she even on? Mine? The day I believe my mother is on my side is the day I let my enemies take everything I love from me. "What's going on back home?" I press.

"Your brother is under mounting pressure and the Protestant nobles want you gone," she explains. "I'm here because James and the nobles stripped me of my power. Elizabeth is still unmarried and thus childless and people are worried about what would happen should she die. Her subjects want an heir from the royal bloodline."

"And you want me to provide Francis with a son," I interject, "because I've already given him a daughter."

"You are the queen," Mother reminds me, "and you are on the verge of losing your country. Either you or Elizabeth will reign over Scotland and England. Make an heir and it will be you. Regardless of whom, I would suggest you get to the task at hand before the tabloids start speculating. You know how much they love the politics in court."

* * *

"Marie de Guise is back?" Francis exclaims. We are back in Versailles and in our quarters. "What did she tell you?"

"Scotland is in jeopardy, Francis," I tell him. "Elizabeth is under pressure to marry so she can make an heir and people think that I'm the better option, since I'm married and I've given you a child already. To be honest, I'm terrified of my cousin. I'm scared shitless of her."

"But why now, Mary?" my husband questions. I give a shake of my head and brush past him. "I understand that you're scared for your country. I get it, I do…but I don't make love to you because I want a baby. I make love to you because I love you." He approaches me and reluctantly, I turn to face him. "Do you really think this is the answer?"

"Either I do this or I lose Scotland to Elizabeth," I snap. "Francis, I don't like this any more than you do. I don't want you to make love to me because it's my duty to give you heirs, but what can we do? I mean, England's laws make it so both sons and daughters may rule—"

"I'm the king of France," Francis interrupts me. "The current law is that only my sons can rule after me. I have the authority to change that. I'm not so sure if everyone would agree with it, but my word is law."

"You're going to change the laws of succession?" It isn't a bad idea, I'll admit, but the ramifications would go down in the history books. I pace back and fro restlessly. If we were to make love tonight, what are the odds of me conceiving a son? Yes, I want more children with Francis but it's only been weeks since I gave birth to our daughter. Nobody in their right mind would seek to get pregnant again so soon. "Are you sure?"

"I'm going to need the support of the nobles to pass it," he says, "but it's another way of going about—"

I shake my head furiously. "Here in France, it may work. In Scotland, it won't because I'm not ruling there. You know the predicament my country is in, Francis. _It won't work._" I take several steps towards him and I take his hands in mine. "I don't like it any more than you do, but we're doing this my way."

"I just can't believe you would base your choice on politics," Francis admits. "What would tonight even be?"

"It would be no different than any other time you've made love to me," I assure him. "Trust me. This is for the best and it's our only option." I reach for him, taking his face between my fingertips. "Do you trust me, Francis?"

"I do." His answer comes without hesitation. I kiss him softly before meeting his eyes.

"Then help me save my country."


	33. Do Not Go Gentle

We wait until sunset to make love. I can't help but hate how it feels like we are walking into a warzone. I know that Francis hates it too, but I'm glad that he's agreed to do it. I look towards the bathroom door, from where the sound of running water from the shower is coming from. Francis is in there. I run a hand through my hair, heaving a sigh. A part of me is bitter towards my mother for coming here; I shouldn't resent her for wanting me to protect our home. She wants what's best for Scotland—as do I—but already, it's starting to drive a wedge between me and Francis.

_I can't believe you would base your choice on politics. What would tonight even be? _My husband's words from mere hours ago echo in my mind. A year ago, he once told me that he didn't make love to me because he wanted a baby—but that he wanted a baby because he loved me. And now, I want him to make love to me tonight in the hopes that I'll fall pregnant again. _What are the odds, Mary? _my doubt whispers. _Could you even conceive tonight? _I hate more than anything how we're doing this after my mother's urging, but it is our duty and we must do it. It's what we've been raised to do our entire lives. I've spent my entire life in preparation for my reign over France and Scotland, so why does this feel so wrong when I know that it's the right thing to do?

My thoughts are interrupted when the bathroom door opens. Francis approaches me, dressed in nothing but his jeans. My eyes wander down his chest and I'm hardly aware of myself as the gap between us is closed. My husband softly runs a knuckle down my cheek; his touch alone ignites all of my senses. I'm wearing nothing but a robe; the air between us is electric. He leans forward and kisses me gently, questioningly.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Francis asks quietly. I nod before I pull at and untie the bow, opening it above my chest and letting it slip down off my shoulders, fall down my arms and gather at my feet. I place a hand just above his heart, wrapping my other arm around him and pulling him into a kiss. Passion quickly overcomes us, intensifying the kiss and our tongues tangle and collide furiously with one another. Our bodies come together perfectly. There is a strong pulsing between my legs from my intense desire.

"Do it, Francis," I gasp between furious kisses. "Make love to me." A powerful hand runs down a breast and I let out a whimper. His lips press against my neck, leaving a hot trail of embers in their wake as he begins to kiss his way down my body. My fingers form knots in his hair as his lips caress me. His mouth blazes down my body, through the space between my breasts, to my chest. My husband rubs his nose tauntingly as he nuzzles my stomach. My legs threaten to buckle beneath me as fire spreads throughout my being. My eyes flutter closed as Francis buries his head between my legs. His tongue finds my rosebud, flicking and swirling until it blossoms into a passionflower. A moan falls past my lips and I gasp as he lifts me and carries me to the bed.

His kisses are overwhelming and intoxicating as his powerful hands roam my bare body. My fingers fumble with the belt on his jeans; I'm dizzy with desire. All I want is to feel him inside me as he makes love to me. Francis pulls away from our kiss and I can't help but whimper in disappointment at the loss of his touch. He pulls his belt out through the loops of his jeans and tosses it to the floor before he undoes the snap. I tug them down his legs and off his body, letting them fall to the floor, before I pull him into a passionate kiss. Francis makes passionate love to me; I arch against him, responding to his thrusts and I scream as my orgasm hits me hard. Francis's dominance is unyielding and unchallenged. We roll until I come into the dominant position, mounting him astride. I ride him wildly and fiercely, the pleasure of my orgasm not yet ebbing away. I orgasm anew and I cry out again. Francis's hands are planted firmly on my hips, keeping me in place as I rock against him. We reach the peak of orgasm and we cry out for each other as one, before Francis rolls again and assumes the position of dominance. I hitch a leg over his hip, arching myself to meet his thrusts. His lips grazing against my skin drives me insane with the need to orgasm.

Francis's mouth closes over a hardened nipple, and I thread my fingers through his hair, writhing and moaning in pleasure. He rises his head to look at me for one brief moment before he continues to leave scorching kisses all across my body. His tongue laps at my bare skin, every movement slow and deliciously erotic. I'm going crazy with desire; I'm feverish and high on the euphoria his kisses give me and I know that I could live like this forever. I writhe and moan beneath him, but it becomes too much. I grab his face with my hands and pull him to me to kiss him hard. He returns the kiss with a furious passion, his tongue warring with mine in a battle for power neither of us are willing to give up. The sparks in my core ignite into an untamed wildfire that burns throughout my being. Intense, searing pleasure surges through me and I cry out in a shuddering climax, my orgasm ripping through me.

"Mary, fuck!" Francis growls.

"Francis!" I moan. "Francis…yes!" We roll several times and Francis punctuates each roll with a sharp thrust. He powers into me over and over again, burying his face in the curve of my neck as he begins to kiss and suck and bite me. I lace my arms around him as a scream of pleasure escapes my lips. Francis fills me completely, climaxing merely seconds after me and we scream as one.

* * *

"I'm really sorry it had to be like this tonight," I whisper. We're wrapped around in each other, our limbs entwined under the sheets and my head resting on his shoulder. My husband's arm is circled around my waist in a loving and protective manner. "I'm just…I'm scared for my country."

"Mary, there's nothing to apologize for," Francis says quietly. "I understand." I raise myself up onto an elbow and reach out, caressing his face with my fingertips. "I love you and I've put you first. I will always put you first." He kisses my palm, before he gently takes my fingers into his mouth and sucks gently. The act alone is so tender and erotic that my skin tingles. "What do you plan on doing next? If you are indeed pregnant after tonight?"

"I plan on taking my place as Queen of Scots, Francis," I tell him. "The time is ripe. It's beyond ripe. They stripped my mother of her power and tension is rising. I'm not going to let Elizabeth take my country and my crown. Even if it didn't happen tonight, it's time. I'll board the next flight to Scotland…"

"When do you plan on going?" he asks.

"As soon as I can." I answer without hesitation. I lean forward and kiss him softly. "I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about me."

"I'll always worry about you," Francis tells me. "Mary, if anything were to happen to you, I would feel responsible."

"I'm safe in Scotland," I assure him. "You have nothing to worry about. I promise, I'll be fine. I haven't told my mother of my plans yet, though. She says she's here to help me rule."

"Do you believe her?" I chuckle humorlessly, shaking my head.

"I wish I could," I admit. "I do. I really do, but my mother…she's never really cared for me as a daughter. She cares for me as monarch, as in: she couldn't give a damn about me when the throne is involved. Shit, I'm sorry. I'm rambling."

"It's okay, Mary."

"I'll leave for Scotland after Claude's funeral," I decide. "I have some affairs here that I need to see to. Look, I don't want to think about politics right now or whatever the reason for my mother's return. I just want to be with you." I kiss him hard and he returns the kiss, our tongues warring for a control neither of us are willing to give up. Francis covers my body with his, pressing our bodies together, and we make love again until we collapse in each other's arms.

* * *

I'm unable to sleep that night. I am tucked into the curve of Francis's body, his arm wrapped protectively around me. His body is warm—a stark contrast to the chill. I turn over on my side to face him and I cup his cheek with my palm, stroking gently with my fingertips. He sleeps peacefully; there is not a sound in the room, save for our breathing and the crackling of the fireplace. It is completely and utterly still between us. I lean forward and softly kiss his cheek before pressing my lips to his. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, pausing when a slip of paper slides under the door. _What the hell? _I pad across the room, kneeling to pick up the parchment. I unfold it and read silently to myself, pacing to and fro restlessly. The note isn't handwritten, but typed in a small font:

_Mary, _

_I told you that getting your husband into bed wouldn't be hard, but you should know: the Bourbons have officially formed an alliance with England. The rumors you have no doubt heard are true. The time to act is now. Don't expect to see any news coverage in the news; they're keeping it on the down low. The Prince of Condé will overthrow Francis; from what I've heard, they're planning to attack the castle in full force. With his brother's and Elizabeth's combined military forces, France won't stand a chance. Convince your brother to send reinforcements. They plan on attacking within the month. I don't know when, but there is no time to lose. _

There is no signature, but I don't need one to know that my mother wrote this. _Fucking hell, the Bourbons. Louis. _I'm not scared of Antoine, but Louis has always harbored an obsession with me. The mere fact that this man is out for my husband's blood scares the hell out of me. The Bourbons are ruthless; they won't stop at anything until Francis and I are dead. My mother's note has changed everything. Whether or not I'm pregnant after tonight won't matter if this is all true, and I know that it is. My mother has no reason to lie to me, not where Scotland is concerned. Regardless of our differences, Scotland's safety is of utmost importance. _They plan on attacking within the month. _I rake a hand through my hair and heave a sigh. I place the note on the desk before I cross the room and return to bed. I know I should tell Francis about this new development, but the selfish part me just wants to have tonight before we have to face reality.

I climb astride him, slowly lowering myself onto him. I plant my hands on his chest for support and circle my hips, finding a tentative rhythm. Francis's lips curve upward in a smile and his eyes open. He sits upright and I wrap my arms around him, resettling myself back into his lap and wrapping my legs around his waist. I cup his face in my hands and kiss him with a burning passion. His hands splay across my thighs, moving up to my hips. I move forward, wanting him.

"Francis, please…" I want him so bad that I feel like I'll go crazy without feeling him inside me, filling me. "I want you so fucking much." He kisses me, slow and tender and passionate, and a wildfire ignites in my core. I whimper when his mouth leaves mine in want of my neck. I curl my arms tighter around him as my head begins to spin. His kisses are hot and open-mouthed and each one sends me closer and closer to the precipice. My husband buries himself in me and his arms lock around my waist. My fingers thread through his hair and my mouth falls open in a soundless scream as my orgasm overwhelms me. Liquid heat spreads throughout me. Francis's urgent, passionate touches set my skin alight, as though he is touching every nerve in my body. I'm addicted to this, to him.

"I love you," Francis gasps. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you too," I whisper, and he pushes me backward so I'm lying on my back. My fingers scratch their way down his chest, before finding their way to him and combing through his lush blond curls. I brush that sweet spot just behind his ear and he hums in contentment. Francis accommodates himself between my legs before he plunges into me in one swift yet hard thrust. I scream in pleasure, my back bowing off the bed. Francis's mouth is on mine instantly, silencing me. I wrap my arms around him, responding to his every touch, and our legs entangle together beneath the silken sheets. His lips seek the curve of my neck and there is not a single doubt in my mind that he's going to leave his marks on me. Francis peppers searing openmouthed kisses all over my body. He kisses and sucks and bites at my bare flesh, branding me with his touch. His bites are not gentle, but they're not too painful either as he leaves me dangling on the edge. My body screams with the intoxicating mixture of pain and pleasure, and my orgasm reaches me not too soon after. I moan, arching my breasts against his torso, and he takes the opportunity to lavish them with his mouth. I entangle my fingers in his hair as I writhe beneath him. His mouth claims a breast while he secures my wrists to the mattress.

He raises his head to look at me, his lusty stare devouring me whole. My desire has reached fever pitch; I'm going crazy from his touch, his kiss. I try to push myself forward so I can climb atop of him, but he continues to pin me to the mattress. "You forget who submits, Mary," he says huskily. He covers my mouth in his in a hot, possessive kiss before finally giving me the control I desperately need. It's unbelievable how good he feels under me, his hardness against my slit. I seek balance from his chest, raking his torso with my nails, as I begin to sway my hips. Slowly at first, but I increase my speed as I feel myself approaching release. Francis grabs my hips, urging me on, and I comply. I climax violently, flinging my head back and screaming in pleasure. My husband's hips buck under me as he explodes inside me with a growl. He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around my waist as he flips us over so he is once again in the dominant position. I climax again and again as he begins to slam into me with deep, sharp and powerful thrusts and possesses me, body and soul.

* * *

I seek my mother in the late morning. Today is Claude's funeral and I know that she won't be attending. It is going to be a small, quiet affair and I'm certain that only Francis and I will be the only ones to attend. I wear a short, embroidered black dress and flats, my hair is tied in a braid that sweeps over my shoulder.

"Francis, are you going to be okay?" I ask gently as I don my earrings. My husband turns to me, hurriedly brushing a hand under his eyes. "I need to speak with my mother about something." I know I need to tell him about the recent development about the Bourbons, but now is not the time for politics. Neither of us want to think about politics today; our grief weighs heavily upon us, threatening to suffocate us.

"Mary, I'll be fine," Francis replies. "Trust me, I know grief. I practically have it down to a fucking science. Grieve and move on with my life." His tone is bitter and harsh, but I know it isn't me he's angry with. He closes the distance between us and gently takes my hands in his. His voice softens when he speaks again. "What's going on with your mother?"

I give a shake of my head, sighing. There is no use in trying to keep it from him. "After we made love last night, my mother gave me this warning. About the Bourbons. They're getting ready for an attack on the castle. The rumors about an alliance with Elizabeth are true. They pose a threat to us and to our family." I pull away from him, pacing to and fro. "I need to talk to my brother. Convince him to send us troops so we can at least have a fighting chance. Fuck, Francis, I'm sorry that I have to tell you this now of all times."

"We can figure it out later, okay?" he says softly. "Thanks for the warning, Mary. After today, we'll figure it out." He pulls me close, enveloping me in his arms. I return his embrace, cradling the back of his head and gently rubbing his back. "I love you," my husband murmurs.

"I love you too," I whisper. I close my eyes, letting a stray tear spill down my cheek, and we hold each other in the silence.

* * *

The cemetery is quiet and devoid of life, save for the presence of myself, Francis, and the minister. Claude's casket is slowly lowered into the ground beside her brother and her parents as the priest recites a prayer, blessing her soul and praying to God that she will find peace in His arms. Francis and I are arm-in-arm, clinging to each other and trying to draw strength from one another. My vision is blurred with tears as we disengage. I kneel to the ground and gently place a rose atop of the coffin. I raise my head to look up towards my husband, scarcely aware of the wetness on my face. I slowly rise and make my way over to him, embracing him tightly as he begins to sob into my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper in his ear. "Shhh, shhh." I murmur words of comfort to Francis as he weeps. I can't help but look at the graves of Bash, Catherine, Henri—and now Claude—and a wave of nausea threatens to overwhelm me. None of this is right. They shouldn't be dead. Francis should have his brother, his sister, and his mother still with him. A year has passed and it still stuns me how many people have died. I know I will never be able to come to terms with the guilt that to this day haunts me, but I hope that maybe Francis will someday find the strength to relieve himself of that burden.

Francis pulls himself out of my arms, running a hand over his face to conceal his tears, before he takes a shaky breath. "I need a little bit more time before I head back to Versailles," he tells me. "I need to say goodbye." I nod wordlessly and he hugs me once again. Reluctantly, I begin to make my way back to his Tesla. I've barely begun to open the door when I hear my mother's voice behind me.

"I hear you received my warning last night," she says formally. "I wasn't sure you would even get it, considering you were warming Francis's bed."

"How long have you known about the Bourbons?" I ask coolly.

"I've known for some time now," Mother admits. "I've tried getting a hold of you, but you haven't been answering your emails or your calls."

"I've been busy," I tell her matter-of-factly. "Things have been tense here. Now with the threat of the Bourbons…"

"I've called up your uncle Christian. He's on his way even as we speak. By all rights, he should still be in Scotland, trying to temper the situation…but that's out of our hands now, Mary," she informs me. "Make an heir. You had no problems making love with Francis last night, so this really shouldn't be an issue for you."

"What the fuck is your problem, Mother?" I explode. "What am I to you? It feels like I'm nothing to you but a breeder for the next generation and a queen!" All of my fury and heartache comes crashing down in a devastating emotional avalanche, and I can't breathe under the weight of it all. Tears cascade down my cheeks and I'm shouting at her. "Ever since you got here, you've done nothing but press me about Scotland and giving Francis a son! Are you afraid that I won't secure my rule? Or are you so fucking desperate to stay in power that you're willing to use me, your own daughter, as a means to an end?"

"Your time here in France really has changed you," she says icily. "You've become more French than Scots."

"Don't you fucking dare give me that bullshit," I hiss. "For so long, I've lived without you in my life…but when I look at you, I feel that I am better for it." I hastily wipe my tears off my face, taking several deep breaths to calm myself down. In my peripheral vision, I can see Francis making his way to me. "You can do what you want, Mother. I don't care. You can stay in France or you can leave. It doesn't matter to me. Why? Because I don't care anymore." I brush past her and make my way over to Francis. Wordlessly, he takes me into his arms. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, embracing the safety of his harbor.

"Are you okay, Mary?" my husband asks quietly. I nod and we pull apart. Francis reaches for me, cradling my cheek in his palm.

"I'm fine," I tell him. "I'm just…I'm so pissed and frustrated with my mother." I sigh. "How much did you hear?" He doesn't respond, which is answer enough. I can't help but groan and he chuckles softly. "Why are you laughing?" I demand, but not angrily.

"I'm not laughing!" Francis insists. He brings me close and he gently kisses my forehead. I look up at him to see the faint ghost of a smile, in spite of the tear tracks upon his cheeks. He strokes my cheek with his knuckles and I lean into his touch, melting into him. I take his hand and gently kiss his palm.

"Francis," I begin softly, but he silences me with a gentle kiss. I stroke his cheeks with my fingertips as our foreheads come together.

"Shhh, Mary," he murmurs. "Don't. You don't have to say anything."

And I don't. In the silence, we remain.

* * *

Upon returning to our chambers in Versailles, I take out my laptop and make a Skype video call to my brother. I sit in the silence, waiting. I don't know if he'll respond to my call, let alone listen to me – and I don't know if I can trust him as I once did. Things have changed so much and there is so much at stake. _If he actually did remove my mother from power, who is to say that he'll even help me? _I drum my fingers upon the bedding, my anxiety and uncertainty consuming my thoughts. Francis looks over at me in the mirror as he removes his jacket. Our eyes meet; I'm unable to help myself as I stare at his backside, covered only in his white dress shirt. _Holy fuck. _I can feel myself blushing and I look back down at my laptop. Francis removes his tie before he approaches and sits on the side of the bed.

I pull out my braid, letting my hair tumble down my shoulders, and I give a brief shake of my head as my dark locks fall free in soft waves. "Why isn't he answering?" I ask impatiently. Francis opens his mouth to respond just as my brother's face fills the screen. I turn the volume up to halfway to the maximum.

"Sorry about that, Mary," says James. "I had to attend some meetings."

"About how you kicked our mother out of Scotland?" I suggest sourly. Francis gives me a look, but I ignore it.

"You heard about that?"

"James, she's here. In France," I tell him. "I thought she was here for Claude's funeral, but I don't believe that for a second now. That's not why I called. I need your help."

"Scotland needs you," my brother reminds me.

"I've been over this with Mother," I snap. "Look, Antoine and Louis de Bourbon are planning a militia attack on the castle. We need as much firepower as we can get."

"What do you need, exactly?" he presses slowly. "Tanks? Men? Jets?"

"I'm losing power back home, James, which is why I need you to do this for me," I tell him. "I would have already sent for troops if it weren't for the current situation with Elizabeth. I have enough on my plate as it is." My hand falls to the plane of my chest and Francis covers it in his. Am I pregnant again? The question is on everyone's minds. I want to have more children, but it's just too soon. Giving birth to Anne was terrifying and traumatic and I'm not ready to go through that again yet.

"Uncle Christian has been the one in charge of your military while you've been gone," my brother informs me.

"He's apparently on his way….but James, will you do it? Will you do this for me?"

"No." His answer comes without hesitation. It is cold and blunt, brooking no argument. I'm shocked speechless and the screen goes dark, indicating the call's end. In stunned silence, I close my laptop and put it over on my desk. Tears of rage threaten to burn in my eyes and before I know it, Francis's arms are around me.

"I don't understand," I exclaim. "Why won't he help us?" We pull apart and our eyes lock. Francis tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and the action is strangely comforting. I shake my head doggedly.

"I don't know, Mary," my husband tells me.

"I am queen, Francis," I say heatedly, "and I refuse to let our enemies take control." Absentmindedly, I rake a hand through my hair. Francis weaves his hand through my curls as he listens intently. "I'm not going to let my mother, my brother, or my uncle dictate what I can or can't do. Scotland is my country."

"What're you going to do now? I'll help you in any way that I can."

"I'm going to take my forces back from my brother," I decide. "I'm done playing nice and I will kill to defend my home." My voice softens. "France is my home, Francis. Scotland is my home." Francis caresses my cheek before he closes the distance between us, softly pressing my lips to his. My hands slide up from his heart to wrapping around his neck, our bodies melding together. He presses our bodies close, his hands circling around my waist possessively. He reaches behind me and pulls down the zipper of my dress. A strong, firm hand presses against my back and I roll my shoulders, letting my dress fall to the floor at my feet, baring me to him. I cup his face in my hands and kiss him furiously, all gentleness forgotten in want of passion. I tear open his dress shirt and buttons fly across the room in flurries. I run my hands over his broad, sculpted chest as he entangles his hands in my hair. I grab his face with my hands and kiss him hard as I step back once. Twice.

"Mary," Francis rasps.

"Shhh, no talking," I gasp, and I kiss him again. My breathing is labored and a fire burns within me, a fire that only Francis can ignite. My husband's hand travels down from my hair to the globe of my ass and he squeezes my flesh. I let out a gasp before kissing him once again, pulling him down with me upon the bed. My hands fumble with his trousers; I'm desperate for him. I need him. An ache spreads throughout me and I'm dimly aware of the sound of his trousers hitting the floor with the rest of our clothes.

Francis's first thrust is hard and deep, causing me to arch my breasts against him as a strangled moan falls past my lips. He pulls out to the tip before plunging back inside me, this time harder than before. I catch his face between my palms and I kiss him, brushing our tongues together. His lips leave mine and I whimper at the loss of contact before he ravishes my neck with his mouth. He kisses, sucks, and bites my neck, undoubtedly leaving love bites adorning my flesh, before he soothes his marks with his tongue.

"_Mary_…" he breathes. I open my mouth to respond, but all I'm able to manage is a low moan. I slide a hand up from his cheek and curve it around his shoulder and into his soft curls at the back of his head. I catch his bottom lip between my teeth and I pull hard just as Francis slams into me again. My orgasm comes over me in ripples and I scream my release. Francis grips my thigh hard, his fingers digging into my flesh, and he pulls me along with him until I assume the dominant position. I come down upon him and kiss him fully, grabbing his face in my hands as I rock my hips against him, tentatively building a sensual rhythm between us.

"Ride me, Mary," Francis rasps. His hands are in my slick, dark tresses, combing them out of my face as he desperately tries to catch his breath. My breathing, too, is labored from our passion. I entwine our fingers together slowly and deliberately as our gazes lock, pinning his hands to the mattress. I sway my hips against him, rebuilding our carnal tempo. Francis closes his eyes and lets his head fall back upon the pillow. I release our entwined hands and grab at his chest for balance, rocking myself against him. I allow a sly grin to curve my lips. I can already feel my orgasm building within me. Francis grabs the pillow above his head and gasps aloud. I feel…alive, like this is what I was made for. I fling my head back, increasing my speed, and liquid warmth spreads throughout me. Francis and I cry out as one, our screams bouncing off the walls. I dip myself down and Francis cups my face between his hands, kissing me ravenously. He sinks his teeth into my bottom lip and tugs aggressively. I tear my lips from his in favor of his neck, sucking on the spot just below his ear.

A hand wraps around my back and another in my hair. Francis growls in contentment, only urging me on. I dip my head down and trail kisses down his chest, not daring to miss a single patch of skin, before I make my way back upwards. I kiss him gently in a feather-like manner, but the kiss turns heated almost instantaneously. Francis sits upright and circles his arms around my waist, prompting me to resettle myself in his lap, wrapping my legs around his back.

"Mary…Jesus Christ," he rasps.

"Shut up and kiss me, you fool," I say teasingly, and he obliges. His kiss is passionate and unyielding. I hold his face between my palms, kissing him with a growing need as I roll my hips against him. I push my tongue into his mouth, winding the hand that I'd placed on his cheek into his hair while keeping an arm wrapped about his neck to anchor myself. I lift up and grind back down excruciatingly slow.

"_Mary_," he pants. "God, Mary…" I pull along and push down on him. Harder and harder, again and again. Francis pushes my hair behind my ears and shoulders, his fingers snaking through my tresses. His gaze is lustful and feverish and filled with adoration for me. Francis pushes and pulls against me, meeting my own sensual movements with his. His name dies in my throat. I tear my mouth from his, wrapping my arms around him, and bury my face in the curve of his neck, gasping as his punctuated movements grow harder and faster. Filling me, stretching me, driving me to the edge. He is buried in me, sheathed to the hilt.

"Francis…oh god, Francis!" I cry. He bites down on the flesh at my neck and I groan. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop!" I pull away from his neck and kiss him feverishly. Francis moves a hand to the small of my back, keeping another entangled in my hair. I throw my head back, lost in the sensations of pleasure. Francis trails searing kisses from my shoulder and down my chest, and his mouth closes over a nipple. He is utterly ruthless as he sucks, biting and pulling at me, eliciting a scream of rapture as my orgasm spreads throughout my body. My husband looks up at me and there is a sudden, swift change of angle as he circles my waist with his arms and flips us over so I am on my back. His full weight presses down upon me, crushing my breasts against him.

"Francis!" I scream. Francis slams into me over and over again, pushing me closer and closer to another orgasm. I hold his face in my hands, guiding his lips to mine, but instead he makes for the curve of my neck. I arch my body against him and wrap an arm around his back, my mouth falling open in a silent moan. My husband leaves kisses along my pulse points, making his way down my body. He kisses my breasts – his tongue circling around my nipples one at a time – and the space between them and rubs his nose tauntingly into my lower stomach.

I arch myself into his touch, slamming my hands into the bedframe, and I let out another cry as Francis grips my leg, his lips gently brushing against my inner thigh. His lips graze against the petals of my center, a slow torture of its own. "Francis, please!" I beg. "I-I need…_oh!" _Francis licks my clit until I'm just on the verge of orgasm, but he doesn't relent his ruthless assault on my senses. My back bows off the bed as I arch myself into his mouth, longing for more. His tongue laps over my center, slicing through my walls – swirling and flicking and circling in an erotic spiral. I fall back upon the mattress the moment his tongue leaves me, and I can't help but look towards him as he lifts his head up from between my legs.

"You are a woman to be worshipped, Mary Stuart," Francis says breathlessly. I'm speechless and gasping for breath, and I bring a hand to my brow, raking my fingers through my hair. _Jesus Christ. _My husband's hands roam across my body, running along my legs and trailing them up my thighs. He plants a kiss on my stomach and his hands move smoothly over my naked flesh. His hands find my breasts and I cover his hands in mine before bringing my hands to his face, bringing him in for a kiss. Our tongues dance in an erotic tango for dominance and a control neither one of us is willing to forfeit. I wrap my legs around his back to draw him closer to me, rolling my hips against him and digging the soles of my feet into his back.

"More, Francis!" I gasp. "Oh god—_OH_!" I thread my fingers through his golden locks and he drives his tongue into my mouth. He draws back from our kiss in favor of my neck, and I arch my body into him. "_Francis_," I sigh as he trails kisses down the length of my neck. "Francis!" Francis takes my bottom lip between his teeth and pulls. A moan bubbles past my lips and he withdraws from our kiss, stroking his thumb down my cheek.

I reach for him, brushing his cheeks with my fingertips. The air between is charged with sex and pleasure, but his gaze is filled with nothing but love for me. "I love you," I say quietly.

"I love you too, Mary." Francis covers my mouth in his. I reciprocate his kiss immediately, parting my lips so our tongues tangle, chasing after one another. The room fills with the erotic sounds of our lovemaking. Francis's fingertips dance across my thigh and I can't help but shiver.

"Breathe, my love," my husband murmurs between kisses.

"You…drive…me…crazy," I gasp, and I feel his smile in his kisses. "Francis!" He pushes his hips into me, harder and harder. His tongue runs along my lips and I meet his passion with my own, my desire reaching fever pitch. A firm hand presses against my breast and I bow my back, pressing myself into his palm. Francis replaces his hand with his mouth, sucking greedily. I comb a hand through his curls and I let my eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed by the sensations of his lovemaking.

"Submission becomes you," Francis says huskily. His thumb circles around my hardened nipple and his hand moves up to my other breast in a smooth, parallel motion. He adorns my naked flesh in hot kisses, biting and sucking at everything in his path. My husband's powerful hands roam my body in smooth, slow motions.

"Francis…" I plead. "Francis…I-I need…"

"Tell me what you need," he says softly.

"Kiss me." My voice is weak. I'm unable to articulate my words through my heavy breaths and every nerve in my body is alight. Francis draws back and grants me the kiss I've been searching for, and I lift my head off the pillow before kissing a path down his neck. I take his flesh between my teeth and suck against each patch of skin, encouraged by his groans of pleasure.

"God, Mary," he growls. "Oh god, Mary!"

"Shhh, baby," I breathe. I nibble at his earlobe, biting and soothing my marks with my tongue. My husband pumps himself furiously into my core, each thrust bringing me closer and closer to my orgasm. I move my fingers to his shoulders and grip tightly, my nails digging into his flesh. Francis kisses a hot path down my neck. I increase our tempo, rolling my hips against his as my mouth drops open in a silent moan. Francis rests his forearms on the mattress and takes the back of my head in his palm, kissing me passionately.

"You feel so fucking good," groans Francis.

"So…do you," I rasp. I bite into his shoulder to keep myself from screaming as my orgasm comes over me in waves. I let my head fall back upon the pillow as Francis covers my mouth in his, swallowing my cries. "Oh my god—oh god!" Francis traps me beneath him and when I feel his mouth over my wet folds, I know that he has won – just as always. His mouth comes hard around my clit and I orgasm violently, shouting my release. I roll my hips into his mouth, trying to match the pace of his swift, hard strokes of his tongue.

"Francis! Francis!" I cry. "Francis!" I shudder in pleasure as his tongue swirls around the bundle of nerves and my hips jerk off the bed. My back bows off the bed and Francis grips my thighs, keeping me firmly in place.

"You're delicious, Mary," he says. "Good enough to eat." I gasp as he kisses my clit, before he takes my flesh into his mouth and tugs gently.

"You sly bastard," I gasp. Francis grins devilishly at me before he glides his tongue into my hot center. He weaves poetry between my legs with his tongue, each hard stroke lyrical in its own way. His hands move up the length of my body and he covers my hands with his, holding them together. Each stroke brings me closer and closer to the pleasurable side of pain and I relish it, Oh god, I relish it. I can't breathe and my body is screaming at me with the need to orgasm. I grope at my husband's forearms, trying to leverage myself against him as he makes love to me with his tongue.

"Francis! Francis! Francis!" I cry out. I tremble with need, desperately grabbing my husband in order to keep myself steady as my desire reaches fever pitch. "Oh my fucking god!" Francis enfolds me in his arms and I let out a gasp as he flips me over upon my stomach. He slaps my ass and I squeal, not entirely in pain. A smile finds its way upon my lips and Francis brushes my hair to the side, draping it over my shoulder. His lips graze against my back, inching up slowly to my neck.

"Oh, Francis," I breathe. "Oh god, what are you doing?"

"I know you love the thrill of submitting to me, Mary," he says huskily, murmuring in my ear. "The escape and the peace you feel when you surrender? The way I touch you when you're mine?" He turns me over so I'm lying on my back again and I sit upright, kissing him forcefully. He kisses me back, our tongues weaving together in a furious storm of passion. A hand presses to my chest and forces me back down upon the bed. I stare up at him and slowly, I reach a hand up and stroke his cheek with my palm. He takes my fingers into his mouth and sucks gently. I exhale shakily and try to pull him into a kiss, but he withdraws. He kisses a path down my body, and his kisses turn into bites as he takes my flesh between his teeth and tugs gently. My eyes fall closed as the sensations of his kisses overwhelm me. He worships me at my altar, adorning my skin in love bites. I cup his face between my hands and draw him in for a kiss. Before I'm aware of what's happening, Francis envelops me in his arms and we roll…once, twice, thrice – and each roll is punctuated with his furious pulses in and out of me.

We end until I am in the dominant position. Francis weaves a hand through my dark tresses; his gaze is filled with awe. I cover his hand in mine and I lower my body to his until we are heart to heart, skin on skin. His hand moves to the curve of my ass and he leans forward, grabbing my face and kissing me hard. I roll my hips against him, craving the friction between our bodies that has resulted in every toe-curling orgasm I've had, and I interweave our fingers together and pull him upright, positioning myself in his lap. My husband circles an arm around my waist, his other hand delicately placed on my cheek. I marvel at his sculpted chest, running my fingers down the curve of his shoulders to his toned muscles. Our bodies are slick with sweat; I've honestly lost track of how many hours we have spent the last few days in bed making love.

His hand runs down from my cheek to a breast and I shiver at his touch. Slowly lowering down my body, I struggle to keep myself still as he caresses me. Every nerve in my body is screaming, burning, for him. Each time we've made love, it never ceases to amaze me how my body instantaneously responds to him. I manage to catch his stare, but I'm unable to stop myself from wrapping my arms around him and crushing my mouth against his. He pushes me back down upon the bed and cages me with his arms, pressing our bodies together. I slide my fingers through his hair, my back bowing off the bed. We make mad, passionate love and we ravish and devour each other until we fall asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

My body is sore the following morning. I open my eyes, gently disengaging myself from Francis's protective embrace, as my cell phone vibrates on my nightstand. I blink my sleepiness out of my eyes and swipe the screen to get to my messages. There is one new notification, and much to my disbelief, it's from a blocked caller.

_SOS I have important information you should know. About Scotland's safety. Come alone to the gardens. –D _


	34. Burn

_I have important information you should know. About Scotland's safety. Come alone to the gardens. –D_

I stare at my phone, my mind reeling. What is it that I don't know about my own country? I can't ignore this message, even if it is a ruse. I am Scotland's queen above all and her welfare is my responsibility. Quietly, slowly, I climb out of bed and don my clothes. I can't help but look back towards a sleeping Francis. My body tingles from his lovemaking and I mentally kick myself. _Mary, you have more important things to do than having sex all day. _I put on my black leather jacket and I slip out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind me.

I half-expect to run into my mother, but I shake it off. I glance at my cell phone to check the time; it's 6AM. Nobody is awake at this hour but me. The quiet is peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos that has reigned my life for so long. There is not a sound in the castle, save for the clicking of my heels upon the floor. I half-run, half-walk to the gardens of Versailles. The sun is only just beginning to rise; the sky is azure and violet and the flowers are given an otherworldly color. Admiring the flowers is a tall figure—a woman with long, blonde hair that is a few shades darker than Francis's golden curls.

"Um, excuse me?" I call out. She turns around and I freeze in my tracks. _What the fuck? _

"Mary, I know I'm the last person you expected to see again," she says. "It's been so long. I've generally tried to stay away from court, but that doesn't mean that I still hear things. Disturbing things." Olivia D'amencourt turns around to face me, igniting a storm of anger and discomfort.

"What the hell are you doing, Olivia?" I snap. "I thought you were back at the chateau that Francis provided for you." _After you tried to win him back and then promptly tried to seduce him again after what happened with Tomas, _I add silently.

"I was," Olivia explains. "And truth be told, I'm happy. I'm happier than I thought I ever would be." She holds out her hand, flashing off her wedding ring. "I'm married, and not to a suitor of Francis's choosing."

"Olivia, you texted me saying that you had information about Scotland. What do you know?" I demand. "I'm not here for small talk."

"Right. Mary, my husband is one of Francis's high lords. Martin de Lambert?"

"I'm familiar with him." I nod. "He's one of the most influential nobles at court. What's your point?"

"My point is that there are things that the nobles know—that my husband knows—that you and Francis don't," she says. "Mary, when you signed your marriage contracts, you didn't know that there was a secret clause slipped in among them. It promises that if you die without an heir, Scotland will belong to France."

"How the hell do you know this? And how long have you known?" I demand. "Francis and I have been married for a year now."

"As I said, Martin holds a high position at court," Olivia answers lightly. "He wanted to keep this information to himself, but I disagreed."

"Why?"

"Because, Mary, I actually give a damn. Francis loves you in a way he never loved me," she says. "God, I wouldn't blame you if you resent me for what's transpired between us…but this is the least I can do."

"Are you doing this for Francis or for me, Olivia?" I ask bluntly.

"I'm doing it for the both of you," she answers. "Does it matter why I'm doing this, Mary? Look, I need to see my husband – but here's a little something to think about tonight. Don't think you can trust those closest to you." Without another word, she turns on her heel and leaves me aloe to ponder our conversation. My mind reels from the shock. My marriage contracts, to my knowledge, were in Henri and Catherine's possession before their deaths and my mother…she couldn't be in on this, could she? No, it couldn't be. What would my mother have to gain from such a clause? Lord knows Henri and Catherine benefited from it before they died. I know one thing is certain – France has betrayed the alliance.

* * *

"Hold on, Mary. Slow down!" Francis says. "A secret clause?" He gives a shake of his head. "It would be just like my parents to have done something like this."

"Francis, the contracts went on forever," I remind him. "Page after page after page. Some were even in Latin, so they no doubt hid it well. I want to believe that my mother wasn't in on this, but I have this gut feeling that she was."

"Do you believe her? Olivia?" my husband presses me.

"I don't think she would lie about something as serious as this," I answer. "We both know Martin de Lambert, Francis. He essentially leads the other nobles and without their support, our power as king and queen means nothing."

"The only way we can find out the truth is if we find the papers," Francis tells me. "My parents' chambers are still intact. Desks and everything. Their personal possessions were sold off after their funerals. The documents should still be in place." I give a shake of my head, making my way to the nursery. Our little Anne is quiet in her cot; once she sees me towering over her, her face lights up in a goofy, adorable smile. She reaches for me and giggles. Francis reaches a hand into her cot, letting her small fingers touch his. He smiles and I look towards him. Strange, how small moments like these become dearer and dearer over time, seeing my husband's joy at being a father and sharing in that happiness with him.

"I don't want to worry about politics and Olivia," I confess. "Our anniversary is in just a few days and I just want it all to go away."

"I have a private chateau reserved just for us," he tells me. "You, me, and our daughter. I know you don't want to spend our anniversary here at court. It would just be our little family." I silently vow to myself to end this situation about my marriage contract's clause before our anniversary and I palm his face in my hands, kissing him deeply. His arms slide around my waist, pressing our bodies close together. I whisper his name, kissing him with a growing need, before I break away from our kiss. I take him by the hand and lead him to the bedroom. We shed each other's clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. Francis carries me over to the bed and we make love until we fall asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

"I'm surprised you wanted to see me again, Mary," Olivia says. "I hope what I told you helps you and Francis."

"We're looking into it," I tell her shortly. As a matter of fact, I intend to find the papers as soon as we are done here. "Olivia, what are you really doing here? Surely it isn't just to warn me and my husband about a betrayal from our parents."

"You still think I want Francis." It isn't a question. Olivia sighs, refusing to meet my eyes. "Don't get me wrong, Mary, I love Martin. I love my husband, but Francis…he was my first love. And trust me, you don't ever forget your first love. Not truly." In spite of everything, I feel the familiar pang of jealousy.

"Olivia," I say slowly. _Oh Lord, I was hoping I could keep this to myself until I was sure. _"I think I'm pregnant again." Her eyes go wide with shock. I didn't tell her this just to make it clear that she would have no chance with my husband, but also because some part of me yearned to tell someone. Francis has made love to me frequently in the weeks since Anne's birth and while I love being a mother and the thought of expanding our family, the thought of being pregnant again both terrifies me and excites me in equal measures.

"I know you have a daughter with him," she tells me. "You don't have to hide that from me, the joys of being a mother." There is a tinge of sadness in her voice. I place a hand over the plane of my belly, wondering. I'm not so naïve as to believe the possibility of conceiving so soon is out of the question. It's only been four months since I brought Anne into the world.

"I will always love Francis, Mary," Olivia continues. "I know I shouldn't. I'm a married woman, but Martin and I…our relationship isn't the typical relationship. At least, not in the bedroom. His tastes are exquisite. So, to answer your question, I came back here for Francis and for my husband's involvement in court."

"Thank you for your honesty, Olivia," I say curtly. "Do me a favor and stay the hell away from my husband."

* * *

When I return to the palace, I am still seething from both Olivia's confession and the recent revelation of my mother, Catherine, and Henri's betrayal. Never would I have expected to see her again. I'm not sure what makes me angrier: the fact that she is back at court or the fact that my mother betrayed me. I hurry to Catherine and Henri's old joint chambers, my simmering rage fueling me. In the hallways, I barely notice as some of the people give me worried or apprehensive looks, wary of approaching me.

The room is eerily vacant and devoid of any signs that Francis's parents once lived here. All of their ancient paintings and most of their antique furniture is gone. Their desk is one of the last remaining fixtures that remains, save for their bed. I open the desk and begin to furiously rummage through the papers that are inside. Skimming through them, I see that several of them are in Latin – written in either Henri or Catherine's intricate script. _They clearly took every precaution to make sure very few people could decode their writings in case something happened to them, _I realize with a jolt. I scramble through the documents and it seems hours have passed when I finally find the papers. They are written in a mix of French and Latin and at the bottom of it are both my and Francis's signatures.

I don't hesitate to leave.

* * *

"As it turns out, Olivia wasn't lying. Your parents never counted on us finding out about the clause before they died," I tell my husband. I rake a hand through my hair.

"I don't know what the hell they were thinking," says Francis hotly, "but it doesn't matter now. They're dead, Mary."

"My mother isn't," I interject. "She's the only person who most likely helped make the negotiations that is still alive. I know I don't have any proof of her involvement, but—" Every instinct in my body is telling me that my mother was involved in forming the clause, but it doesn't make sense why she would sell Scotland to France. _She essentially sold you off to marry Francis, _a small voice whispers. She claims that she has done everything for me and for Scotland, but she has done nothing but use me and lie to me. "I want to be able to trust her, Francis. She's my mother…but I'm a royal. I don't have the luxury of trust. I never did."

"What are you doing to do now?"

"Send word to Scotland," I say immediately, "and what better way to get as many Scots in France than throwing a gala? There is no possible way my brother is in on this, Francis."

"I wouldn't be so sure," my husband says slowly. I give him a withering look. I am in no mood to bring up the sore subject that is my brother. I can't afford to think about his motives for his recent actions or I'll imagine the worst. _Francis claimed that James tried to murder me when he tried bringing me back to Scotland. _I didn't want to believe it then and I still don't want to believe it now, but it seems that I can't trust anyone in my family anymore. My mother is trying to use me to secure power and my brother may or may not be a traitor.

"Tonight. At sundown."

* * *

The ballroom is filled with people when we enter. I am in a black, floor-length gown that accentuates my hips and in my hair is a headband adorned in rubies, complimenting my engagement ring. The back of my dress is cut in a V-shape, baring my back. My tresses are in soft waves, tumbling down my shoulders and back.

"You look beautiful," Francis tells me as we walk to the heart of the ballroom, hand-in-hand.

"Thank you," I blush. "You look…dashing. Sexy." My husband takes my face in his hands and kisses me deeply. I kiss him back and we pull apart, breathless. I can feel his hot desire pulsing in waves, and the flames that flicker in my core threaten to ignite into a wildfire.

"Mary, Francis," my mother interjects. "You look absolutely stunning tonight. What's the occasion? I wasn't expecting a party tonight."

"Oh, our anniversary is in just a few days," I answer. "We wanted to have a public celebration before we went to our private estate." Mother raises her glass of champagne in a toast before she takes a deep swig of it.

"Is that why you invited almost every Scot in France?" she asks pointedly.

"It shouldn't concern you whom my wife invites, Marie," Francis says sharply. His eyes are cold and his voice is like acid.

"You're right, Francis," she hisses. "It shouldn't. My daughter has made enough poor choices as Queen of France as it is. It is just my wish to help her. Excuse me." She storms past him as she downs her wine.

"She might suspect something," my husband says lowly. "Whatever it is you're going to do, I would suggest you do it quickly." A few moments pass and I recognize him instantly. Dougal McKenzie, one of the many men who fought for my father. I approach him tentatively, fully aware of Francis's presence behind me, quiet yet strong.

"Mr. McKenzie," I say formally. "I would like to speak with you. Alone." He turns to me, his expression guarded.

"Whatever it is you'd like to speak to me about, you can say it in front of my men, Your Majesty."

"It's about Scotland." McKenzie's eyes flash at these words, and I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding. "It's important. Come with me and I'll explain." He nods curtly, prompting Francis and me to go.

"Mary, are you sure you can trust him?" Francis hisses.

"All I know is that he once fought for my father," I reply. "If his allegiances have somehow shifted, this is my risk to take. You know I'll do anything for Scotland." If anything, I want to settle this matter before the media hears about it and causes yet another circus at court. We retreat into a private hallway and McKenzie, accompanied by his men, stand before me. I take a breath, trying to slow my racing heart, before I speak.

"I know you want to know why I wanted to speak with you," I begin. "It's about France and the alliance between our countries. McKenzie, you took up arms fighting for King James V. When my father died, did your passion die with him?"

"No, Your Majesty. To this day, I can still remember the battles I fought. The explosions, the gunfire, the blood…I remember it all."

"Would you fight again for Scotland if you had to?"

"I would not hesitate to defend my country," he vows fiercely. "My loyalty lies with Scotland and nothing else."

"The day of my marriage," I begin, stepping towards him tentatively, "a secret contract was slipped in amongst the others. The French arranged it with my mother. _It gives Scotland to France, _if I die without an heir." His eyes flicker with interest and his men exchange glances. I've grabbed their attention now. "I cannot allow it to stand," I say vehemently. "Do you understand what I'm saying_? I cannot allow it_! I may live in France, but I have the heart of a Scot! I am aware that you have a business deal with my mother, Mr. McKenzie. By doing what I am about to ask you to do, you risk facing her wrath—and I have nothing I can give you except for my gratitude."

"What is it you want done?"

"France has betrayed us! I want you to spread the word by whatever means possible. Social media, telling the press, it doesn't matter. I will not risk Scotland's freedom." Wordlessly, McKenzie drops onto his knees and his men echo him, kneeling in unison. He looks up towards me and takes my hand, tenderly kissing my wedding rings. In his eyes is an awe and devotion I have never seen before.

"Your Majesty, we have waited a long time for you to rise."

* * *

"Oh my god, holy shit. That was…wow!" I exclaim as we head back to our apartments. "My hands are still shaking."

"That was amazing, Mary. In that moment, they were yours!" Francis turns to me and closes the distance between us. My back hits the wall and I am suddenly aware of the sexually charged air between us. My blood pumps with adrenaline; my heart races in my chest and my hands still shake. Our eyes lock and he grabs my waist, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I kiss him back with a mad passion, just as consumed with lust as he. We stagger inside our rooms and I gasp as Francis spins me around, pressing my body to his. I can feel his hardness behind me as he pushes me against the door. Wetness gathers between my legs and I gasp and moan as he presses hard kisses into my neck. His kisses leave my head spinning, so I place my hands upon the door for support as he rips my dress from my body. A loud, unmistakable tear echoes throughout the room as the fabric falls from my body. I turn around to face my husband and I kiss him furiously, kicking off my shoes. He lifts me into his arms and throws me down upon the bed before withdrawing, removing his clothes and shoes until he is completely naked. I don't have time to drink in the sight of him as he takes me hard, bruising my inner thighs and my collarbone. We scream as one as our orgasms crash over us in waves. Between hot and furious kisses, I beg Francis to fuck me harder and harder. We move together in an animalistic haze, high from adrenaline and power, until I finally collapse in his arms.

The palace hums with talk the next morning, and I know that word has spread about the clause and France's betrayal. Francis and I lie in bed; I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for me, but I don't want to leave. I don't want to have to face my mother's lies, but I know I have to.

"Mary," he begins. I shake my head.

"No. Francis, please. Don't. I just want a few more moments here with you before…" I'm unable to bring myself to continue. "I can't believe my mother would do this to me, to Scotland. We can't afford to end the alliance between our countries."

"You've thought about it," says my husband. It isn't a question and I can't lie to him. "You've considered ending the alliance between France and Scotland."

"I'm sorry, Francis." I sigh. "I know things have changed since we came into power. The clause may or may not yet stand now that we are king and queen, but…I'm not going to stand down and let my mother lead Scotland to ruin."

"Do what you have to, Mary," he tells me. I take his hand and kiss his knuckles, before I hold his hand close to my chest, as though I can draw strength from him.

"You know that I love you, Francis," I say softly. "You are mine and I am yours…but if it ever comes down to a choice between our countries, I will choose mine." A heavy silence falls between us and without another word, Francis climbs out of bed, dons his clothes, and leaves the room – leaving me alone in the calm.

* * *

Death. Murder. When I finally bring myself to leave my apartments, I am surrounded by whispers of the murder of a group of Scottish men who were last seen conspiring with Mary, Queen of Scots. My heart leaps in my throat and tears threaten to blur my vision, but I quickly blink them back. I refuse to let those here at court know the truth. I don't need to ask who is responsible for the murders of McKenzie and his men.

Blinded by tears of fury, I storm to my mother's chambers. She looks up at me from her paperwork, startled. "Mary, I was—" I don't give her a chance to finish her words as my palm connects with her cheek, a loud _crack _resonating off the walls.

"You killed twelve of my men, Mother," I snarl. "That's something right out of Catherine de Medici's handbook. Why? How? How could you do such a thing?"

"Were you thinking it through when you asked them to tell the world about the clause in your marriage contract?" my mother counters heatedly. "You're not only putting France at risk, but Scotland as well. You want to know why I made that pact with Catherine and Henri? I never believed that you would make an heir for the Valois, so I had to secure our country."

"And that justifies murder?" I shriek. "You slaughtered my men at a brothel! You even killed all possible witnesses!"

"_What the fuck did you expect, Mary_?" she shouts, rising from her seat. She slams her hands on the desk and I jump, tears streaking down my cheeks. My mother takes several steps towards me. "You are a young and beautiful queen, my daughter, and men will throw themselves into the fire for you! Lord knows Francis has done that for you countless times! People will die for you. It's part of the job, but don't worry. You'll get used to it in time. The more people you send to their deaths, the more used to it you become. You can't possibly be so naïve as to think they would just tell the world without any repercussions."

I pull the documents out of my pocket and tear off the page that contains the clause. "Burn it. All of it, Mother. This clause will not stand whilst I live." My voice is deadly calm, but steady in spite of my tears. I watch as my mother takes the document and places it into the fireplace. The parchment curls and blackens at the flames. "Now I understand why James and his men usurped you back in Scotland," I say. "Do what you will, but don't you dare to think to cross me again." I storm out of the room only to see my husband waiting outside the door, pacing nervously. He stops when he sees me.

"Mary, I heard about what happened. Are you okay?" I cling to him, burying my face in his shoulder, as I begin to sob.


	35. Anniversary

The days leading up to our anniversary are relatively peaceful. Tension remains between me and my mother over the clause in my marriage contract and Olivia stays out of my and Francis's way. The sun shines upon Versailles as my ladies and I dance outside in the grass.

I throw my head back and laugh as Kenna twirls me. The throbbing beat of the music emitting from her Bluetooth speaker threatens to bring out the wildness in me. I sway to the music as it reverberates throughout my body. God, I have never felt so alive. Whether or not my newfound wildness is from my euphoria from today being my and Francis's first wedding anniversary, I am too high from my elation to care. When I finally see Francis running towards me, I half-skip and half-sprint my way over to him. We collide, our lips meeting in a passionate kiss. Francis lifts me in his arms and spins us around in glee before setting me back down on my feet.

"Happy first anniversary, husband!" I laugh. Francis kisses me again before he takes me by the hand, running. We run laughing, stopping every once in a while to kiss, to our bedroom – where our fiery passion explodes into a wildfire. Francis presses hot kisses into the curve of my neck as he reaches behind me, pulling down the zipper to my black dress. I roll my shoulders and let it fall off my shoulders, gliding down my arms into a heap on the floor. I kick off my heels, kissing Francis harder as I take us to the bed. I fall back upon the mattress and Francis immediately climbs atop of me, pressing his full weight down on me. I receive his kisses eagerly, arching my breasts up against him. Our naked bodies entangle, our limbs entwining under the linen sheets. I cup my husband's face in my hands and guide his lips down to the curve of my neck. He bites and sucks at my flesh, leaving love bites in his wake. I pull him back into a kiss, sitting upright in his lap.

"I love you," I gasp. "So fucking much."

"I love you too." Our foreheads press together as we struggle to catch our breath and Francis pulls back, stroking my cheek with his palm. I smile at him, my fingers moving from his cheek to his sculpted chest. He leans forward, kissing me possessively. His arms wrap themselves around me back, pressing our bodies together, before he pushes me flat on my back. I meet his passion with my own and I roll atop of him. His hand roams the terrain of my bare back as I roll my hips into his eagerly. I grab his face between my palms and kiss him, arching myself into him. His hands frame my face and he flips me over so I am on my back again. I wrap my arms around him as he buries his face in my neck. He whispers dirty words, love words, in my ear – only propelling me further into lust-filled madness for him. His kisses move further and further down my body; I bring a hand up to my brow, engulfed in the sensations brought about by his kisses.

His mouth finds my center and I orgasm so hard that I scream. Francis yanks me closer to him as he fucks me with his mouth. I arch my back off the bed, going mad with need. My sensations of pleasure border on the edge of painful and I don't mind at all. Francis kisses me again and we lose ourselves in each other.

* * *

The next few days are spent away from the palace in our private chateau, with our daughter. We spend day after day alternately making love and bonding over Anne. I turn over to face my husband, only to find his side of the bed empty. Puzzled, I climb out of bed, wrapping the sheet around myself. The floor is still covered in the rose petals that Francis left last night. I find him in the nursery holding a sleeping Anne in his arms. His back is turned to me and I lean my head against the doorframe, my lips curving up in a smile. Francis hums a lullaby to our daughter and for a moment, I debate with myself whether or not to leave him with her for a little while longer or to have him make love to me again. I knock lightly on the frame, and Francis turns to face me.

"Mary. I didn't see you there." He smiles at me and my heart swells with love. I walk over to him and I kiss him hard. He chuckles lightly. "Someone's a bit…impatient, don't you think?" he jokes. I playfully punch him on the shoulder and, his hands full with our daughter, he nudges me back. This time, he is the one who steals a kiss. He gently places our daughter back in her cot and he envelops me in his arms, his hands roaming the small of my back. I catch his bottom lip between my teeth and I pull gently. Francis cups my face between his hands, his thumb brushing over my lips.

"Did I seriously tire you out?" I laugh.

"A man has to recharge sometime, my love," he says, and kisses me again. "We've been here for almost a week."

"Can't we stay a little while longer? Three weeks more?" I ask.

"I would love it if you could somehow convince me to stay," my husband suggests seductively, "and let me ply you with a little champagne."

"How long do you think Anne will sleep? Long enough for a quickie?" Francis smirks at me. He caresses my face and covers my mouth in a searing, possessive kiss that takes my breath away.

"Maybe, if you're vigorous enough," I say lowly. We kiss again and I guide my husband back to the bedroom. He pushes me back on the bed and I gasp as he enters me in one swift, powerful thrust. I bite into his shoulder to keep myself from screaming. His movements become harder and harder, pushing and pulling at me like a tide, driving me to my limits. I kiss him fervently, begging for more, until I'm sure that I'm about to explode. I come undone, my screams of pleasure shattering the night.

* * *

The days turn into weeks. I don't remember being so happy and in love since my honeymoon. Francis and I are wrapped around each other, twisted in the sheets. His arm is draped around me protectively and possessively. I can't help but place a hand on the plane of my belly. Now I know for sure. These past few weeks alone with Francis have not only been the best of my life, but also have given me the answer. I gently disentangle myself from my husband and climb atop of him. He opens his eyes and smiles sleepily at me.

"Good morning to you too." I kiss him with a growing need and I squeal as he flips me over on my back, dominating me. He lets out a playful and sexy growl and I can't help myself as I burst out into laughter. Francis quiets me with a kiss before he makes for my neck. I wrap my arms around him, arching myself against him.

"Do you remember when we were children?" I ask. "We had such fun playing together, wrestling and chasing one another around the palace." Of course, we still do chase each other but our wrestling now is a different type of wrestling.

"Of course I remember," Francis answers between kisses. I hold his face, stroking his cheeks with my fingertips. He meets my gaze and I kiss him feverishly before speaking.

"I'm pregnant again," I tell him breathlessly. "I'm with child!" I continuously caress his face, struggling to catch my breath and trying to gauge his reaction. His face breaks out into a beam and he kisses me hard. I kiss him back eagerly, wrapping my legs around his back and pulling him closer. In spite of all my fears, I can see it all so clear: our lives together, raising our family. "I'm with child!" His face breaks out in a beam and he covers my mouth in his. I don't even realize that I'm crying with joy until he wipes my tears away with his thumb.

"I love you, Mary."

"I love you too."


	36. War and Peace

"Those had to be the best four weeks of my life," I say to Francis. The limousine takes us though the busy streets of France. "I want to go back and spend the rest of the day in bed." He wraps his arm around me and kisses my hair; his other hand falls to my belly. I cover his hand in mine, letting myself melt into the warmth of his body.

"That can be easily arranged," my husband says. I look up towards him and kiss him softly. "I love you, you know that?"

"I love you too," I whisper. He moves his hand into my hair and I can't help but be grateful that Anne is asleep. Our kiss grows heated and passionate; I can feel Francis resisting the urge to tear off my clothes. We pull apart from each other once the vehicle stops in front of Versailles. I am left breathless from his kiss. We climb out of the car, expecting to me greeted by our subjects, but instead, it is deadly quiet. In the distance, I can just barely make out the shape of a chopper and—

"Are those tanks?"

"The Bourbons," Francis realizes. "They're here." He grabs me by the shoulders and makes me look at him. "Mary, find your mother, take Anne and get out of here."

"I'm not going to leave you!" I retort. Anne bursts into tears in my arms and I began rocking her, shushing her as I continue. "Francis, I'm not leaving you behind!"

"Mary, you're pregnant! If anything were to happen to you, I would never forgive myself."

"I can take care of myself! I'm not a porcelain doll!"

"You are carrying my child. I know you want to protect me, but now, it's my turn to protect you. Find your mother, take Anne, and make for the secret passageways out of the castle." He reaches into his pocket and hands me a pistol. "Kill anyone who tries to get in your way." I nod in affirmation and he kisses me fiercely. I hold Anne close and sprint into the castle. Versailles is in a complete uproar, the people in a state of panic and confusion. The Bourbons' military forces are coming closer and closer with each passing second.

"Mother! Mother!" I shout, shoving my way through the crowd. A jolt of fear slivers through me. What if Louis and Antoine are already here in the castle? The last time they attacked, they surely had the chance to find all the secret passages. I make for her chambers, only to find her room vacant. _Fuck. _I hurry to my rooms, and I find her standing in the doorway, almost as if she has been expecting me.

"Mary, where the hell have you been?" she demands. I shove my daughter into her arms and load the gun my husband gave me.

"Francis and I just got back from our chateau," I explain hurriedly. "Look, Mother, take Anne and get the hell out of here. The palace is under siege and you need to go now!" I head over to the bookcase and I pull it open, revealing to her a tunnel that stretches for miles. "I'll catch up with you, but I'm begging you, protect my daughter!"

"Are you sure about this?"

"YES!" I scream. "_Go!" _Without another word, my mother slinks through the door and I close the bookcase. I turn around to see Louis de Bourbon, flanked by four of his men. They are armed to the teeth. All I have is a small gun.

"Mary, Queen of Scots. I would have thought you would be fighting at Francis's side," he drawls. "But no, you are here. Alone in your chambers." He toys around with the dagger in his hands, and I can't help but shiver. What chance do I stand against him and his men? "Where the fuck is the king?" he demands.

"Go fuck yourself," I snarl. The world turns sideways as I feel Louis's fist connect with my face, sending me sprawling to the floor. I press a hand to my cheek; my fingers come away bloody. Every instinct in my body screams at me to run. And I do. I make for the door, screaming at the top of my lungs, but one of his men restrains me and claps a hand over my mouth, muffling my shrieks. I kick and struggle furiously and he tosses me to the floor, knocking the wind out of me. I manage to raise myself up onto my hands and knees, but my ankles are grabbed and I am pulled towards Louis. My fingernails rake the carpet and I hear screams. It takes a moment for me to realize they're coming from me. Louis flips me over on my back and positions himself between my legs, while his other men restrain me. A hand is clamped over my mouth and I'm crying and screaming in terror as he cuts open my dress with scissors, leaving me in my bra and panties. He undoes his belt and zipper on his jeans while keeping a hand locked around my throat; my vision begins to darken, and I can't breathe. I'm dimly aware of my bra and panties being forcibly removed and a choked sob escapes my throat.

"MY BABY!" I screech, and Louis slaps me across the face. All of a sudden, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot cracks through the air and one of the men holding me down collapses, blood oozing from his skull. Louis and his men rise to their feet, but Francis is faster. He shoots his men before they're able to make a move before he lunges at Louis, roaring in fury. I scramble away from the fight into the corner of the room, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around myself. I tremble uncontrollably. I bring my hand to my throat and I wince in pain. I'm unable to stop crying and I curl up into a ball, terrified.

Francis throws Louis to the floor and punches him in the face over and over again. His knuckles are red with blood – Louis' blood. Louis fights back, but my husband has fury on his side. Francis rises to his feet, a bruised and bloody Louis lying on the floor before him. He brandishes a gun of his own and fires. Once, twice, thrice…so many shots one after the other until blood begins to splatter all over his face and clothes. I rise unsteadily to my feet and rush over to him. Louis remains motionless on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

"Francis, Francis! He's dead," I tell him. "He's dead." The gun drops from his hands. He looks at me and he trembles from both rage and shock, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Francis pulls me into his arms and I burst into tears all over again.

* * *

I don't even remember the rest of the battle. Dimly, I recall my brother and uncle's choppers and tanks arriving. Bombs are dropped on the Bourbon militia, effectively destroying them all. The Guise, Stuart, and Valois troops overtake those of the Bourbons. I spend the days that follow after the battle in semi-solitude, the only company I allow being that of my husband and my daughter. My mother has preferred to immerse herself in the political affairs of Scotland, with my uncle and my brother.

Francis and I look over the balcony at the sunrise. Days – weeks – have passed since the battle and the fall of the Bourbons. The burnt remains of the militia on the palace grounds is a satisfying sight; for days on end, the media has covered nothing but the battle and what our victory means in the long run for us. I care nothing about the politics of it all. I am merely grateful for my life, and that of my child. My unborn baby is okay. My daughter, my Anne, is okay.

"I can't believe it's all over," I say softly. Francis hugs me from behind, and I mold my body to his. My husband kisses my temple and holds me closer, tighter.

"What matters is that our family is safe, Mary," he murmurs, "that our children are safe." Antoine and Louis are dead, their armies destroyed. They will never hurt our family again.

"England still poses a threat, Francis," I remind him. "My claim to the throne is stronger than Elizabeth's…but, I don't want England. I don't want more power."

"Wait, what are you saying?"

"I want to relinquish my claim to her throne. I want to have a future with you without the threat of her hanging over our heads…and it was your father who forced me to declare myself for England in the first place. I never wanted England." I turn to face him and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, meeting my eyes.

"I will stand at your side, Mary," my husband vows. "I love you." I kiss him and his hands move to my hair. One kiss turns to two and two grows into more until we are utterly consumed by our passion. I can feel Francis's arousal and I yearn for his lovemaking. I need to be with him. I pull away from him, breathless.

"Mary, you're shaking."

"I'm fine, Francis." I manage to sneak in another kiss before Francis is the one to pull away. "Francis, trust me."

"I don't want to make love to you if you don't think you're ready."

"It's been almost a month since the siege," I insist. "I'm fine. Kiss me, dammit!" I grab his face and kiss him hard. He doesn't hesitate this time and we stagger back inside our bedroom, fumbling with each other's clothes until we are both naked. Francis throws me down upon the bed and immediately crawls atop of me, his kiss hard and demanding. We give and take from one another, pushing and pulling, and drive each other to our limits. Francis's mouth closes over my clit and my back arches off the bed. I grip the sheets and let out a scream of pleasure. My husband is relentless as he fucks me with his tongue, sending me into an erotic spiral of pleasure bordering on the edge of pain, and when I open my mouth to scream his name, a moan bubbles from my throat. The first thrust of his hips feels like home. My lips meet his in a searing kiss. I moan as his mouth finds my neck and I wrap my arms around him as he crushes me with his full weight. He bites down on my bottom lip and pulls, letting out a low growl – a nonverbal reminder that he's in control. I wrap my arms around him, sighing as he begins to kiss my neck. I arch my body against his as his teeth scrape my flesh, and I catch his lips again in another kiss.

"Francis!" I gasp. "Oh god, Francis!"

"Mary," he growls. His movements become more and more punctuated and I kiss his shoulder before burying my face in the curve of his neck. "Fuck, Mary!" Our kisses are furious and hot and passionate. I entangle my fingers in my husband's curls as he kisses my breasts and the space between them. He rubs his nose in my belly where our child grows before gently kissing my skin. Our lips come together once more and he cradles my face in his hands. I run my hands down from his face down to his chest before he presses his lips to mine. I receive his kiss eagerly and roll atop of my husband. His arms wrap around my waist and his hands move to my hair. The only sounds that fill the room are the chorus of our wordless moans and cries. I rock my hips against him, gradually propelling myself towards orgasm. Francis cups my face in his hands and pulls me close to him, our foreheads pressing together. My hands shift from his chest to his cheeks and our lips remain fused together as Francis rolls, covering my body with his. His lips leave mine in want for my neck and I lock my arms around him.

"Yes, Francis," I whisper. "Oh, _oh, _yes! There, there, there – oh my god, yes, _OH!" _My words cut off in a scream. Francis covers my mouth in his, effectively silencing me.

"Mary," he moans. "Oh god, Mary!" I kiss him hard and lean forward, positioning myself so I'm sitting in my husband's lap. I kiss him again – once, twice – and we break our kiss, gasping for breath. Francis strokes my face, tucking my hair behind my ear. I hold his face between my fingertips, caressing his jawline, and we don't speak. His hands move to my waist and he kisses me fiercely. His arms wrap around my back and he pushes me back down upon the bed. I palm his face between my hands and he kisses my cheek and my neck. I turn my head to the side and moan in pleasure when all of a sudden—

"Your Majesties, an ambassador from England has arrived at court. They wish to speak with you now." Startled and mortified, I let out a squeal and Francis rolls off me. I hastily cover myself with the sheet, trying to ignore the tingling that spreads throughout my body.

"Now?" I repeat.

"Yes!"

* * *

"Queen Elizabeth has made a peace offering," the English ambassador tells us. My husband and I sit upon our thrones in the throne room; almost all of court has come to see whether or not I will make peace with my cousin or declare war between our nations.

"A peace offering? Why is she all of a sudden laying down her arms?" None of it makes sense. It's been a year since Henri forced myself to declare myself for England and since then, political tensions between Scotland and England have run high. The birth of my daughter has secured Scotland's future, but France still needs a future king after my husband. Regardless, my claim to her throne is stronger.

"She thinks England will benefit from an alliance with Scotland and in, turn, France," he explains, "but there is only one condition."

"And that is…?" presses my husband.

"Queen Mary has to resign her claim to the English throne and remove all of her Scottish and French troops off English land," the ambassador continues. "If she doesn't, Queen Elizabeth will declare war on you and you will be fighting a war you cannot win, even with France at your back."

"Consider it done," I say without hesitation. "Where are the papers?" I share a glance with my husband. The diplomat is shocked witless. "Surely you brought them with you."

"I-I did." I rise to my feet and approach him. "Give them to me. Court is hereby dismissed." My husband and I arise from our thrones and Elizabeth's representative gives me the documents. I scan over them and I nod curtly at him, dismissing him.

* * *

I sit at my desk in our chambers, reading the treaty documents. Francis stands a few feet away from me, cradling Anne in his arms, cooing and doting on her. I'm unable to keep myself from smiling at the sight. Our daughter is the best thing that's ever happened – not just to him, but to us. She is our little miracle.

"Everything seems in order," I tell him. "This isn't some cheap bullshit ploy, Francis. This is the real deal. I'm more than ready to sign." Francis looks up at me from Anne. "Are you ready to do this?"

"I am," he says. He walks into the nursery and places our daughter in her cot before he comes over to me. Beforehand, I catch a glimpse of him kissing her forehead before lowering her into her cradle. "Do you want to summon the ambassador?"

"Do it."

* * *

"King Francis and Queen Mary, I'm surprised you're doing this so soon," says the English envoy, "but I am also pleased that the nations of Scotland and England were able to come to a mutual agreement to end the fighting." The papers are set in front of us, awaiting our signatures that would seal the pact.

"We want nothing more than to make peace with England," my husband replies. "My queen recognizes that it is time to end the fighting, and I do too." I reach for a pen and sign my name where prompted: _Marie R. _My husband does the same and writes his name in the space above mine in his stunning, lyrical calligraphy: _Francis II. _

"On behalf of Queen Elizabeth, I am pleased to announce that the conflict between our two countries is officially at an end!"

Francis looks towards me and takes my hand in his. "You have Queen Mary to thank for that. She's made a great sacrifice in the name of peace, giving up her claim to the English throne."

"Well, thank you, Your Majesties." The representative bows courteously and I give him the documents back.

"Once Queen Elizabeth has signed the accord, we will make a public announcement at court and host a large party," I tell him. Elizabeth's ambassador bows courteously and takes his leave of us.

"I suppose you're going to be the queen of two countries, not three," says my husband. He strokes my arm and we rise from our seats. I gasp as his arms circle my waist and he kisses me deeply. I kiss him back, the stirrings of desire rising within me.

"We have a couple hours to kill," I say suggestively. "Come." I take him by the hand and lead him to the bedroom.


	37. Within Temptation

"Do you want to go to Paris?" asks Francis. He strokes my bare back, our limbs entwined beneath the sheets. "It would be just you and me. Your mother could take care of Anne while we're gone." I raise myself up on one elbow, lightly tickling his chest with my fingers, and I smile at him. "I'm sure court won't notice our absence during the festivities."

"Francis—"

"Mary, the fighting is over. Antoine and Louis are dead and Scotland and England have made peace," my husband reminds me. "It's over, Mary." I meet his eyes. He's right. I don't know why I'm still so wound up and tense. Perhaps it's because I've ever really had a peaceful period in my life where I didn't have to worry about politics and the pressures of being queen of two countries.

"I would love to go to Paris," I whisper. "Dance under the stars, spend all day and night making love." I kiss him softly. "And just have you all to myself." Francis chuckles, snaking a hand through my hair, before he covers my mouth under his. I roll atop of him, holding his face between my hands, not daring to separate myself from our kiss. His hands roam my back and through my hair; I'm unable to keep from smirking as a hand finds the curve of my ass as I begin to ride him, building a tentative rhythm between us. I plant my hands on his chest for balance and I pick up the pace. Francis leans back on the pillow and closes his eyes, surrendering all control to me. I throw my head back as adrenaline begins to course through me and the all too familiar build-up to orgasm rises inside me. Francis doesn't move a muscle as I glide up and down on him, taking all I can possibly get from him. He groans and lets out the occasional grunt, but he doesn't once buck his hips against me or make a single movement to pleasure me all the more.

A powerful orgasm washes over me and for a moment, I literally see stars. I scream loudly and Francis flips me over down upon my back in a swift motion. He immediately covers my body in his and his mouth is on mine. I wrap my arms around him, sliding my hands down the sides of his neck to his broad, sculpted chest and his mouth is suddenly on my neck, sucking and kissing and biting. I arch my back as my mouth falls open in a wordless moan. My body ignites in response to his every touch, kiss, and caress. I turn my head to the side to give him full access to my neck, gripping his forearms.

"You are so fucking beautiful," Francis murmurs against my neck between kisses, "and so, so sexy." He moves to my breasts, fondling one with one hand and taking my other breast in his mouth. My back bows off the bed briefly and I move my fingers into his hair. My back bows off the bed as another orgasm floods through me, but my husband grabs my hips and pins me to the mattress, keeping me still. I squirm against him, frustrated at being unable to move. I buck my hips against him and he raises his head long enough to _tsk _at me.

He positions himself between my legs and kisses my chest softly, before he raises his head and places his palms on my lower chest. His fingers caress my skin and my chest heaves in anticipation as he draws out his sensual torture. Heat pools between my thighs and he caresses my thighs, before dipping his fingers into that secret place deep inside me that has always ignited my passion.

"Francis," I murmur. "Francis, I need you." I can already feel myself going crazy with desire for him. It is a mighty struggle to keep myself still. His lips glide across my skin, moving from my chest to my leg. I moan quietly as he kisses my inner thigh and he thrusts into me in one, powerful stroke. I seize the opportunity and kiss him. He pushes into me again and again and again, until I unravel and come completely undone in his arms.

* * *

The peace banners adorn the throne room and the halls. As Francis and I leave our chambers hand-in-hand, it's impossible not to stare at them. It all feels so…surreal. It really is over. We can be together without having to worry about the threat of our enemies hanging over our heads. Our children will be safe. Our family is safe. I'm suddenly smiling uncontrollably and I take my husband aside, before granting him a passionate kiss. He presses my back to the wall and his hands entangle in my hair. I sigh quietly as he presses hot, openmouthed kisses into my neck. I can feel him barely restraining himself from ripping my clothes off right here in this hallway. I grab his face and kiss him twice just as—

"Your Majesties, the limo is waiting for you," the chauffer tells us. We spring apart from each other, startled at this interruption. Blood rushes to my cheeks and Francis's arm comes around my waist. He kisses my hair and rubs my back.

"Come on, Mary," he says. "Let's go to Paris."

* * *

The ride to Paris is relatively quiet. I sit with my head resting on my husband's shoulder, our fingers locked together. The scenery of France passes us by in the windows; Versailles is nothing but a mere dot in the distance now.

"I always knew we would be married," I confess, breaking the silence. I raise my head up to look at him. "Ever since our first dance after I returned to court…do you remember? Everyone was so excited about my return and our marriage."

"Yes, I remember," my husband says. "I think I knew, too. I just didn't want to admit it to myself. It seems so long ago."

"Another lifetime," I agree. Back when everything was simple. Easy. "I've missed it when our life is like this. Quiet. Peaceful. I want this life for our children, grandchildren and great grandchildren."

"And they will have it," Francis tells me. He strokes my cheek gently and I melt into his touch. His gaze is heartbreakingly tender, and he pulls me into a deep kiss. I reach for him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt before wrapping my arms around him. I let my head fall backwards as my eyes flutter closed, giving my husband more access to my neck. His mouth moves from my neck to the cleavage my dress offers and I put my hands in his hair, urging him lower.

"Francis…" I murmur. "Oh, yes, Francis!" I open my eyes and I freeze. "Driver, stop the car!" My husband looks up at me, surprised by my outburst.

"Why are we stopping?" he asks. As soon as the car stops, I take him by the hand and lead him outside.

"There is a lake not too far from here," I tell him. "I was thinking we could go for a swim, leave our clothes on the shore…" I trail off suggestively, leaving his mind to fill in the blanks. He grins when he catches my meaning and over his shoulder he yells to our guards, "Wait here for us!" I burst into laughter and lead him to the lakeside.

He makes short work of my dress, spinning me around so my back is pressed to him and pulling down the zipper in the back in one swift motion. My dress immediately falls to the ground, baring me to him, and I tug at my husband's shirt. He pulls his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the ground, and I eagerly undo his belt. I slide it through the loops and toss it aside. His mouth covers mine possessively and I reach for the buckle of his jeans. He tugs them down and tosses them aside, completely naked. I grab his hand and, hand-in-hand, we jump into the water.

The water is soothingly warm, much to my delight. The sun's rays shine down upon us as we splash one another and embrace, exchanging passionate kisses and laughing and playing together like the children we once were.

* * *

We lay together on the shore, sprawled out on our discarded clothing under the afternoon sun. I trace a pattern into his chest with my fingers, smiling down upon him. For the most part, we're dried off but our hair is still damp.

"I love you, Francis," I say quietly. I playfully rub our noses together before I offer my mouth to him. My husband kisses me back with equal fervor and he gently rolls me over so my back is upon the earth, cradling the back of my head in his hand. I wrap my legs around him, and he leans down, granting me another kiss.

"_Yes_," I whisper.

* * *

By the time we return to the car, it is sundown. The sky is a beautiful hue of azure and scarlet, as radiant as our passion for one another. I grab a handful of Francis's shirt and pull him into a long and passionate kiss. His arms come around me before he presses his forehead against mine. He combs my tresses back with his hand before brushing his lips against my forehead. Silently, he wraps an arm around my waist and guides me back to the car. I take his hand in mine and rest my head on his shoulder, and darkness takes me.

"Mary, wake up," Francis says, nudging me gently. "We're here." I open my eyes as the car pulls up in front of an incredibly luxurious hotel. _Holy shit. _"Welcome to Paris." We climb out of the car and make our way inside. In an instant, I feel as though I am transported back into the 15th century. I am reminded of the Louvre for a moment and I feel a pang of nostalgia. We check in quickly and are escorted to our rooms.

Francis closes the door behind us before he takes my face in his hands, kissing me deeply. I kiss him back, wrapping my arms around his neck. Piece by piece, we shed one another's clothing. We fall back into the bed and as Francis makes love to me, I know that I am home.

**FIN.**


End file.
